


Steel and Spice

by rummyxbones



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummyxbones/pseuds/rummyxbones
Summary: A year following Drago Bludvist's attack on Berk, one of the Dragon Riders is taken and sold into the slave trade of a far off land. After a narrow escape and living as a sell word for ten years, he never expected to return to Berk... but fate has a strange way of working.Slight AU, takes place after HTTYD2. RoB, DoB, and RttE is canon. Rated M for graphic violence, rape, abuse and death.





	1. Chapter One

**Prologue.**

 

Snotlout jerked awake with a sharp gasp, hand instinctively moving to the greatsword laid across his lap.

The night was dark around him, the fire low and crackling. A light snow lazily blew in the wind. It was the early weeks of spring and the air still carried a sharp bite. He paused, relaxing his hand against the sword hilt. The dream that had snapped him awake didn’t have any sense of danger to it, and was far from it in fact, but his reflex did not know the difference. Eventually he settled back onto the tree trunk that he had been lying against - and apparently fell asleep on - during his watch. It wasn’t the first time that he had dreamt about flying again.

The wind rustled his hair, and the steady beats of Hookfang’s wings were the only sounds in the sky. Tall clouds reflected the sunset in tones of pink and soft oranges, and the Earth below seemed so far away. He had reached forward and given Hookfang a soft pat on the side of his head and was answered with a content rumble. In his dream, he could feel the swell of easy happiness as teenager and dragon wheeled gently above Berk. But now, Snotlout was met with a dark night and a fire that needed to be tended to. A few feet away in a tent, Adelaide slept silently. He looked on her briefly, mentally berating himself for falling asleep. They had just heard wolf howls not two nights ago. A cold wind swept through the campsite and the low fire crackled. He rose quietly as possible, sheathing his greatsword against his back, and went to the pile of sticks beside the tents. Standing beside the pile tied to a tree, his horse Juniper nickered softly to him.

He fed the fire, the bite of cold leaving his face, though still hearing the beats of wings in his head. It never did get easier as time passed - he missed his best friend. An intrusive image flashed in his mind of the Monstrous Nightmare reeling back with a pained roar, blood splattering from the deep wound on his long neck. Snotlout clenched his jaw tight at the thought. “Stupid dragon,” he whispered under his breath. But he knew that it was his own fault Hookfang was killed. It was almost ironic in a terrible way. Hookfang was always so proud and defiant, but his last moments were trying to save his rider.

He thought to Berk. The only thing that he was certain of was that he would not be staying long. Just pay respects to his father and leave. It would be more than likely that his visit would not be welcome at all. Before being taken away, he was only barely tolerated to begin with. But it was no wonder. Snotlout cringed to himself, remembering himself as a teenager… boisterous, obnoxious, and a bully. And the one who he was the worst to is now the Chief. Still, he told himself, he just wanted to pay his father a visit. And then he would leave and put that village behind him. He had accepted it long ago - that he was just a wanderer with no tribe to call his own. A wolf howled what seemed to be only a few miles away, and he listened carefully. An answering howl echoed even closer. Juniper pawed at the ground anxiously. Snotlout still gazed into the fire, not very fazed. On this road, wolves were the least of his worries. It was the people to be concerned of... thieves and bandits were plentiful.

Adelaide stirred, sitting up in the tent with furs wrapped about her, also looking out into the night. “They are closer than they were the other night.”

Snotlout nodded. They had been on the road for two months now. There were things he was still trying to figure out about her, but he was more at ease with her than any other person he had met in this place. Their conversations were short and to the point - it had been a mostly quiet journey. She rose out of the bed and joined him by the fire to warm herself, catching a glance at the sky. “It will be a few more hours until light. You should get some sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. The dream, despite being serene in itself, had been unsettling and he wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he wanted to. He didn’t mention that he had also dozed off on his watch, which in this land, was potentially dangerous.

The two sat quietly for a long time, both looking into the licking flames of their fire. Adelaide looked to her guardian after several long minutes. “The port is a three week journey from where we are, right?”

“If I remember right, yes,” Snotlout answered.

“Once we board the ship, how long of a sail will it be to Berk?”

The Viking used his foot to arrange a log that had popped and rolled away from the flames. His chest began to feel heavy as he spoke. He wasn’t even sure if they were going to arrive by ship. What if there were going to be dragon riders waiting for them? And what if those dragon riders recognized him? “I don’t know,” he answered, “It could be days, months... But I’m not sure.”

“Should we just get going, if we’re awake for the day?” Adelaide asked, looking up at the stars. He had quickly noticed her tendency to look up at them at the beginning of their journey. She was reading them, but whatever it was they told her, he had no idea.

“There’s really no reason to stay here,” he answered and stood, and offered a hand to her. He couldn’t feel her skin through his steel gauntlets when she took the offer. “So let’s do it.”

The two of them began to pack their things, breaking down tents and rolling up their furs as the early skies lightened. Adelaide pulled out a couple of apples from her bag as they worked - their food supply wasn’t the greatest for a full meal. Though thankful to eat, Snotlout’s stomach turned. In just a few weeks, only an ocean would be separating him from Berk, a place that until just recently, he thought he would never see again. It felt like a lifetime had passed since he had made the decision to not go back. Yet he was still pulled in it’s direction, he always had been. As he usually did before setting off, he fingered all of his weapons. The greatsword on his back, the dagger to his side, there were twenty-eight arrows in the quiver at Juniper’s harness, and the bow across Adelaide’s back… all items that were on the way to becoming obsolete in Berk due to Hiccup’s dragon training, but now items essential to survival. The two began to set forward, Adelaide on the horse and him walking. How things have changed.

 

* * *

 

 

  
**PART I**

 

**Chapter One.**

 

The plaza of Berk was bustling that morning: Vikings working, trading and talking, and dragons roaring and squawking to each other as they flit past and perched on roofs. Any evidence to indicate the attack of Drago Bludvist on their village was long gone aside from new structures… though the colossal Bewilderbeast had blown a third of the buildings away with its powerful ice breath, the Vikings of this village were as resilient as a hardy weed and bounced back quickly. It was almost a year since that day, and things have changed quite a bit. Many many more dragons, a new chief, a new alpha dragon… but some things just couldn't be changed.

Snotlout Jorgenson, notorious for sleeping in late, was not pleased with the bustle outside and groaned, throwing the closest thing on his bedside table towards the window - a tankard. "Come on, people… some of us are trying to sleep!"

Having left Dragon's Edge quite some time ago, he now lived in the upstairs room of the Jorgenson house again. It was custom for his people to live together as a family, even into elder years, so the twenty year old bachelor lived alongside his father Spitelout, his mother Calamity, and occasionally his best friend and dragon, Hookfang. The said dragon poked his head through the stairway and chortled a greeting rumble at the sound of his rider waking, spitting his harness on to the floor with a loud thump. The dragon was practically wriggling with excitement.

"Hooky, give a guy a minute," Snotlout yawned as he stretched and hauled himself out of bed. Hookfang always got a little stir crazy having to wait for his rider to wake up.

Downstairs, Snotlout could hear the sounds of his father opening the door and exclaiming. "Gods - Snotlout! Get your dragon on out of here! I don't want to come home to seeing dragon rear first thing!"

Snotlout snickered to himself as he pulled his boots on. He normally wasn't supposed to let Hookfang in the house (considering the dragon was about the size of the building and perfectly sized stables elsewhere), but he couldn't resist sometimes. And Spitelout probably did have a giant dragon butt in his face upon entering. Plunking his helmet on to his head, he approached the Monstrous Nightmare and put a hand on the giant snout. "What do you say, Hookfang? Flight around Berk then the great hall for fish and breakfast?"

Hookfang roared loudly in approval and retracted his horned head. There was something Snotlout and Hookfang shared - they didn't let on just how much they got along when people were watching. The two were both stubborn and proud… Hookfang had no qualms with occasionally lighting Snotlout on fire or throwing him from the saddle, and the young Viking would boss his dragon around on a daily basis, but with no one watching and in the privacy of the Jorgenson home, the two didn't hide their easy contentment with each other. They couldn't have people think they were going soft, after all. Downstairs, his father Spitelout was attempting to pour a glass of mead from the cask but kept getting slapped with Hookfang's wagging tail fins.

"Hey Dad! Where's Mom?" Snotlout said nonchalantly, then winced a bit at his father's annoyed gaze. "Oh, right… sorry, Hookfang was begging to come inside, so."

Hookfang snorted saucily as if to say 'I don't beg.'

"Ye mother is at market," Spitelout just sighed in exasperation and stepped over the dragon's tail to drink his mead at the table. His son was just out the door when he raised a hand. "Just a second, boyo."

Snotlout paused as Hookfang awkwardly twisted his body to squeeze out of the door. The tone of his father's voice was serious, and he had an idea of what was going to be asked. "Have you spoken to Hiccup like I asked, son?"

Snotlout avoided his father's gaze awkwardly. "Uh, no. Not yet, been meaning to but things just keep coming up-"

"You're twenty summers old, boy!" Spitelout rolled his eyes. "Time to figure out your future! Make a name for yourself and the Jorgensons! You've lost your chance of chiefdom, so you need to be making your moves while you still can!"

"I know, I know," Snotlout answered, impatient to get going.

Spitelout drained his tankard and set it down loudly, unimpressed with the answer. "Today, son. Speak to Hiccup today."

Snotlout just swallowed and nodded, turning away to leave. Outside, Hookfang cocked his head curiously as Snotlout began to attach the saddle to his neck. The dragon rumbled, sensing a mood change in his rider.

 

Hiccup Haddock, the meek little boy Snotlout was practically raised with, had grown to become chief of Berk. Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around it, just how everything had completely changed. The town runt of fifteen years was now in charge, let alone got the girl every Viking his age coveted, and dragons coexisted peacefully with Vikings… if someone had said this just ten years ago, they would have been laughed off of the island. But it was the way things were, and life had to adapt.

For the longest time, everyone on Berk was sure that Snotlout would have been Chief one day. Hiccup was just… a 'Hiccup', a name given to the smallest of a litter. Most villagers were surprised that the young Haddock boy made it through so many winters as small as he was, and he didn't possess a single Viking-like trait. Snotlout was not only the closest heir, but was the strongest and most skilled in weaponry and fighting of his generation, surely Stoick would have passed the duty onto him. But, as said, things had changed quite drastically and to say that Snotlout was still a bit bitter or jealous would be an understatement. Hiccup was now the beloved chief of Berk, and Snotlout lost his chance to become something great. Unless he could still make a name for himself. And the Jorgenson's always made a name for themselves.

It had been made clear early, in the days of them living on the Edge, that one day the dragon riders will need a new leader when Hiccup became a full time chief. Had Astrid not already been the founder and leader of the Auxiliary team (and now it seemed very obvious that she would become married to Hiccup one day and be the wife of the busiest man on Berk), he was sure the title would have been given to her. Hiccup knew just how badly Snotlout wanted it. It was his last claim to fame, his last chance to prove himself as a Jorgenson - for generations, his father and grand fathers served as Marshals to the Chief in times of war and it was time he carried on the torch.

It just wasn't happening fast enough for him though. The death of Stoick the Vast threw Berk upside down. Never did they imagine Stoick the Vast would leave them so early and in the shocking way it happened. It was near the anniversary of that very day and still Berk grieved. Hiccup was doing a great job adapting to the role of a strong and dependable leader. But no one could have expected for him to be thrust into his father's place so suddenly, and sometimes Snotlout could see the doubt on the young Haddock's face as if he still questioned himself in his new role. Despite being earnest of obtaining the title of Marshal of the Dragon Riders, even crude and often oblivious Snotlout of all people could see that immediately asking in this time would be uncouth. But a year has passed! He couldn't wait any longer, and Hiccup could not continue to ignore it… in addition to his father badgering him on a daily basis.

"Ready, Hookfang?" Spitelout said as he jumped aboard the dragons long neck. The Monstrous Nightmare roared enthusiastically and immediately took to the skies.

Of course Snotlout wanted to be in that position. He deserved it more than anyone on the island! He was the most qualified rider, the best warrior of his generation (second to Astrid, of course) and it didn't hurt he found himself so handsome. And he wanted more than anything to make his father and people proud. But… the idea of asking Hiccup permission for anything still made him cringe a bit. Despite all of the progress the two had made from Snotlout being his older cousin's biggest bully to respecting him as a competent leader, wingman and friend, damn if it didn't bruise his ego.

Hookfang ascended quickly into the skies, beating his wings and letting his forked tongue loll out as the wind rushed past them. Snotlout looked down on his village, where the people were just tiny dots below. "What do you think, Hookfang?" he said, "All those people looking up to your Snotlout, coming to me for my wisdom... I'll be leader of the riders and finally get the respect I deserve around here!"

The dragon had no interest in these human affairs and just grunted, enjoying his flight. Snotlout leaned back in his saddle with his usual cocky grin. "I'd be pretty good at that job, won't I?"

Once again Hookfang ignored the comment and began heading towards the sea stacks that peppered the waters around Berk. Snotlout made up his mind; no matter how busy Hiccup was today, he would make the chief listen. It was time to make his dad proud. Just as he was having these thoughts, he heard even from this distance from the island a short round of applause. He glanced over to see the flitting shape of Toothless and Hiccup descending towards Berk, returning from some sort of business of likely importance. Snotlout rolled his eyes. It wasn't unusual for his entrances to be met with clapping and cheering. Sometimes he thought that Hiccup could sneeze and the people of Berk would fall all over themselves in admiration.

 

They flew for almost an hour until Hookfang got his pent up energy out darting through the sea stacks and dunking his head in the water to snap at fish, and they glided down to Berk towards the great hall (to no applause, Snotlout noted) for a bite to eat. The hall was emptier than usual, as most of Berk woke at a normal time. There was almost always some sort of communal food being made, and Snotlout helped himself to some as Hookfang buried his head in a basket filled to the brim with tuna and mackerel. The young Viking inhaled his food quickly and had two more servings. He ate like a man twice his size, and he told himself it was because he still had growing to do. He didn't exactly see himself as having the manliest stature at the moment, but hopefully that would change… Spitelout told him (with disappointment of course) that his grandfather didn't grow into typical Viking size until his twenty-fifth summer and was counting on it.

Snotlout perked up when he recognized a certain voice and the distinctive sounds of a prosthetic on the wood. Hiccup. He was walking with a group of Vikings through the Great Hall in deep conversation. As always, Toothless trailed behind him and warbled hellos to other dragons in the hall - despite being the King of Dragons, Toothless was just like an excited puppy. Abandoning his plate, Snotlout trotted behind the group and tapped Hiccup's shoulder. He did not like having to reach up to do so, just another jab to his ego as he compared their height. He caught the tail end of a sentence: "-ships entering our waters with strange markings."

Hiccup Haddock turned around with a raised eyebrow. "Snotlout?"

"Hey, Hiccup," Snotlout said, trying to keep the usual notes of arrogance out of his voice. "Got a minute?"

"Um, actually, no," the chief answered. "Kinda busy at the moment, something important."

The darker haired boy tried not to let the comment get to him - it sure sounded like he was implying Snotlout wasn't important enough. "Well, at some point I really need to talk to you…"

One of the men in the group cleared his throat impatiently, and Hiccup began walking with them once more. "I'll talk to you later today, Snotlout."

-

Snotlout was really learning today just how time consuming being a chief was. He tried several times to locate his older cousin, but Hiccup was always on the move. He would be at the forge, meeting with several Vikings over grievances, checking on dragons and inspecting their fishing fleet, but no time to talk to Snotlout.

He was starting to get frustrated. And Hookfang was getting very uninterested following his rider, voicing his boredom with low growls and grumbles as they walked through the emptying plaza. The sun was lowering in the sky and the twenty year old was beginning to think he lost his chance for the day, when he spotted Hiccup and Toothless walking towards their hut. And they were alone! Snotlout picked up the pace and called out.

"Oh, hey Snotlout," Hiccup said. He sounded tired and looked a bit like it as well. It must have been a long day for him. "That's right, you wanted to talk."

"Right. So, I was thinking," Snotlout began and cleared his throat. He suddenly was nervous and hated it. "Well, with you being chief and all now. I was thinking… you know, that maybe some new people can be considered for some new positions and... whatnot."

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. "New positions?"

"Well," Snotlout wished that he could just get his words out, he was beginning to sound stupid. "You know, with you being Chief and all it leaves some stuff a little open..."

Hiccup exchanged a confused look with Toothless.

"Anyway," Snotlout said, "Well it's been a year now since you've been Chief, and we talked about it a long time ago how one day the riders are going to need a leader to tell them what to do around here and I was thinking… I should be that guy."

He held out his open hands and tried to smile. Hiccup didn't seem to get it at first, he must have had fuzzy thoughts from his long day and even Toothless cocked his head. Then he realized what Snotlout was getting at and awkwardly put a hand to the back of his neck. He looked very uncomfortable. "Oh! Oh, I see…"

Now the question was out, Snotlout practically started spewing words out of his mouth. "I'm like the best warrior we have, I'm a pretty awesome dragon rider, I've flown with you through the Red Death, Outcasts, Viggo, pretty much all the bad guys… I'm a Jorgenson, and we're kind of a big deal-"

Hiccup cut him off there. "But Astrid is taking care of all the Auxiliary riders already and we're in a time of peace. It doesn't seem necessary at the moment to really make a new title that-"

Snotlout waved his hand dismissively. "Well, that's the perk of being chief, isn't it? Getting to make some new stuff up? There can be two."

The chief pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You know, it's not so simple, I don't just get to do whatever I want. The fact you even said that is a little problematic..."

"So… what do you think?" Snotlout asked and tried to hide his nervous swallow.

There was a moment of silence, too long for his liking. Hiccup looked more awkward than ever and gave Toothless a pet on his head as if to distract himself. "Well, Snotlout. Thing is… I think there are certain qualities someone should have to fill that position. And don't get me wrong, you've proven yourself over and over again to be loyal and fierce wingman… but I think you could improve those qualities quite a bit before any decisions are made."

Snotlout didn't show any outward signs, but his heart dropped into his stomach. He was being told no. What will my father think. "I've just had so much on my plate and haven't put much thought to it, honestly, and there's plenty of time to figure this out," Hiccup added, as if that would lessen the blow.

"But. You need me," Snotlout said quietly at first, and then narrowed his eyes. "You're going to choose Fishlegs, aren't you? Oh Gods, it's not going to be that mutton-head Eret is it?"

Hiccup made a sound that was half a laugh and a scoff. "I-what? I haven't even had this cross my mind yet! I'm still just figuring out how this whole 'being chief' thing works! I'm sure one day you actually will be-"

"Well, what's wrong with me? What exactly are these 'qualities' I lack?"

"Snotlout, I don't have time for this."

"You had plenty of time to avoid me all day."

"That doesn't even really make sense, but okay then," Hiccup sighed, "You're rash, competitive and sometimes not the most open-minded Viking in town… but you're also dependable, trustworthy-"

"Oh, don't sugar coat it," Snotlout rolled his eyes and was close to yelling. He could feel the few people in the plaza beginning to look. "I bet this whole thing is because I picked on you just a little as a kid. Time for payback? Make me look like an idiot to the Jorgenson clan?"

"No, that is not at all what this is about," Hiccup also was raising his voice, but his tone was if he was trying to calm a testy dragon rather than argue. He also saw some villagers beginning to flat out stare. If Snotlout kept at this, he would have some angry people to deal with: the people of Berk don't take kindly to their chief being insulted. "Don't get me wrong, I've had thoughts on this lately but there are other priorities at hand. And, things are peaceful right now… we're still recovering from Drago and the Bewilderbeast, it's time to focus more on-"

"I've proved myself to you over and over again!" Snotlout took a step forward, beginning to look like a cornered animal. "I proved myself to everyone, I deserve this!"

"Snotlout, you need to calm down."

"Stoick would have wanted me to have this, he even thought that I was gonna be chief for the first fifteen years of our lives, definitely not you," Snotlout snapped, not even aware of the words coming out of his mouth. He heard the gasp of onlookers and immediately felt a sense of regret and sinking dread.

Hiccups face grew uncharacteristically dark. "Don't bring my father into this."

Just then, a Deadly Nadder carrying a man on its back flapped on to the building beside them. "Hiccup! Ships spotted on the western shore!"

Hiccup took his stony glare off of Snotlout to turn to the dragon and its rider. "Do they carry the same insignia?"

The man nodded. "Aye. There are several. Just a few miles from the shoreline."

Snotlout almost flinched when Hiccup turned back to him and said in an unusually cold voice, "This is going to have to wait. Get the other riders, we have something to investigate."

-

The sun was now setting deep in the horizon, the sky turning to shades of red. Flying low to the ocean, five dragons sped along. It had not taken long for Snotlout to gather Astrid, the twins and Fishlegs. Hiccup didn't explain the situation or say much at all as they saddled their dragons, and Ruffnut loudly stated that the tension was so high you could cut it, but Snotlout was silent for a change. Now, he felt sick to his stomach. He shouldn't have made the comment about Stoick. He probably had no chance in the future to become the leader of the riders now... and he was going to have to explain that to his father. He was going to disgrace the Jorgenson name, and he almost felt like a young boy again, afraid to meet his father's wrath. But for now, he had to do his job as a dragon rider, whether he wanted it or not. Hookfang was restless, picking up on Snotlout's energy.

"Alright, let's get some altitude," Hiccup shouted over the wind, and Toothless darted upwards with the signature whistle of a Night Fury in flight.

The other riders followed suit, and they leveled out just below the cloud line. Almost automatically the dragons moved into a V formation with Toothless and Hiccup at the head. "Okay, gang," Hiccup said and let Toothless drift back a little so he didn't have to yell. "According to our scouts, lately there have been sights of unidentified ships in the area. They've unsuccessfully pursued some of our fishing fleets and don't seem too comfortable with getting close to the island. We're here to see what they want, and if they're friendly."

Fishlegs groaned. "In the history of us seeing who is and isn't friendly, it always seems to be the latter..."

"Giving chase to our boats and retreating when backup is a possibility seems a good indicator," Astrid commented, more so to herself.

Soon, they caught sight of the ships and their foaming wake. There were four. Three sailed relatively close together, and the fourth was some distance away. The sinking sun cast their long shadows on the glimmering ocean. "Astrid, the twins, and I will go to three grouped together. I'll land and try to talk to these guys. Snotlout and Fishlegs go check out the fourth in the distance. Do not engage unless it's defensive and necessary, just keep an eye on them if they turn and run or try to pull something. I'll see what they have to say."

Snotlout immediately steered Hookfang away without a second thought. He just wanted to put distance between him and Hiccup. He heard Fishlegs shout something after him, but the Monstrous Nightmare was unmatched in speed for Meatlug to properly keep up. Soon they were just a dot behind. They descended towards the ship to circle over head, and Snotlout looked down on it. It was a rather large boat with several sets of sails. The largest bore an insignia he had never seen before - a large scarlet hand with a dagger piercing it. There were about two dozen people on deck, and they had already noticed the dragons in the sky and were pointing and talking amongst themselves. Snotlout flicked a glance towards the others - Meatlug and Fishlegs were still far behind, and he could see Toothless coming in to land on one of the three ships grouped together.

Something whistled by and Hookfang growled - the distinct sound of arrows. "So, that's how they're gonna play, huh?" Snotlout said and gave his dragon a pat, looking over to see the other ships reacting the same way to Hiccup's arrival. "Let's show them not to mess with dragon riders!"

More arrows whistled by and with a great roar, Hookfang burst into flame, nose diving towards the great ship. He smirked to see the look of terror in the men, and they froze for a moment, fumbling with their weapons. Hookfang blew a warning pyre of fire just above their heads, and Snotlout took a good look at the men as they passed. They seemed different. Something about their stature was off, and they had facial features unlike local men of the archipelago. Still, the warning shot did not deter them, and he heard another volley of arrows approaching. Hookfang easily dodged them and even gave a snort as if to say 'this is child's play.'

"Alright, let's make these guys sitting ducks. Aim for the sails, Hooky!"

The great dragon turned to make another pass, and soon all but the greatest of the sails were ignited - they had to suddenly veer away due to an arrow. They could hear the men yelling, and despite feeling sick to his stomach just moments before with anxiety, Snotlout couldn't help but laugh. Winning never got old! At the next pass, Hookfang bared his claws forward and snatched two crossbows from the hands of the sailors. He could do all this even before Fishlegs and his slow dragon could make it to the fight being such the great rider he was, and couldn't resist the Jorgenson battle cry.

"Nice one, Hookfang! Snotlout, Snotlout, oi, oi-"

Several things happened at once. Hookfang barrel rolled, turning into the next sweep so his rider was upside down to the ocean as Snotlout pumped his arm in the air, when he felt a sharp, hot pain. The left hand securing himself to Hookfang spasmed in reaction and he was falling. It wasn't even until he hit water hard and bobbed below the surface he realized what had happened. Just in his field of vision, an arrow protruded from connective muscle between his collarbone and shoulder.

Snotlout surfaced and cried out from the pain, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to stay above water. It was impossible to swim with the arrow through him. And the ship was close, too close. The ocean waves were bumping him into its wood, sending shooting pains into his shoulder. "Hookfang!"

He could see the Monstrous Nightmare snarling and diving towards him when he felt something grab him. Hands were pulling him into the ship. He heard voices yelling over the crash of the waves, shouting instructions and the loud clicking mechanisms of crossbows firing. "Keep that rider at bay! Aim for the head of the Monstrous Nightmare! Not too close, we've got one, we got a rider!"

Snotlout was dumped on the wooden floor and he thrashed, fighting against the men. His left arm was useless and he was easily subdued as he shouted obscenities and struggled, feeling a few noses break under his right fist, but there were just too many. Then the ship lurched with the heavy weight of Hookfang landing, sending many sprawling. He was on fire, a crazed look in his slitted eyes as he bellowed an ear-piercing roar. He easily tossed two men to the ocean and clamped his jaws on another's arm to send him flying. A jet of fire narrowly missed Snotlout.

"Hookfang!" Snotlout called, he was restrained and was being forcefully dragged away. His panic begin to rise as several men approached his dragon, weapons drawn. "Hookfang, go! Run!"

Swords glinted and men ran forward. Two were torched with fire, another pinned beneath the dragon's sharp talons as his tail thrashed and sent men overboard. Snotlout could only watch in horror as Hookfang snapped at one man as another ran into the dragon's blind spot.

"HOOKFANG NO!"

The sword was swung in a perfect arc and connected. Snotlout felt his world go silent. The Monstrous Nightmare's eyes shot open in pain and a shriek of a high-pitched roar escaped him. A wide, deep gash opened on his long sinewy neck, and hot blood poured out like a fountain. It splattered loudly on the wooden floor of the ship, and the dragon convulsed, rearing on to his hind legs and wildly flapping his wings. Snotlout struggled harder than ever before and he could only shout his dragon's name over and over. The last thing he saw before being thrown below deck was Hookfang falling over the edge of the ship, trail of crimson blood behind him.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N.**  Hey everyone, and thank you for the follows and favorites! Before beginning the first chapter, I thought that I would go ahead and talk a little bit about my plan for this story. Yes, this is a Snotlout-centric fanfiction, and I have a feeling that this story will not get too much attention for that reason. I know the average person isn't too fond of him and some downright hate him, but after watching all of the shows and movies, I really grew to like him. I personally think he shows many layers and has a ton of depth to him... but that can be elaborated on if anyone wants to know why. Hiccup and the other riders are major characters and will have a huge role in the plot, but you may not see them for awhile. So if you are looking for a story involving him and the others, you may need to hold on for a bit! Also, Adelaide (seen in the prologue) is an OC of mine, we'll learn more about her in the future.

I had plans for this story long before The Hidden World was released, so this is an AU that takes place after the second movie. I also am one of the many fans of the franchise who was very confused with many aspects of HTTYD3, something about it didn't sit right with me... however, Riders and Defenders of Berk is canon, as well as the Netflix original series and the Gift of the Night Fury. I have never read any of the books as well, so this will obviously be based on Dreamwork's adaptation. I did, however, like the idea of Hiccup and Snotlout being cousins, with Valka as his Aunt. I think that is a pretty common assumption in the fandom... but not much else will be taken from the books. Another thing going into this, is keep in mind that this is a fanfiction geared towards an adult audience. There will be violence and sexual themes. I will try to insert trigger warnings at the beginning of chapters if necessary. Also, hold on to your butts, cause this will be a long one. I appreciate you all! - rummyxbones


	2. Chapter Two

 

**Chapter Two.**

 

Snotlout felt hot tears on his face and was practically blabbering, calling his dragons name and swearing vengeance.

Below the deck of the ship it was dark and cool, and he fought hard against his captors. Men were getting punched, headbutt, bit, anyone who got to close left with an injury. It took organized yelling and teamwork to pin him to the ground: a man grabbed the arrow that pierced him and twisted so that he was brought to his knees in pain, and there they subdued his hands behind his back. They moved through the ship's belly, shoving and kicking, where he was led to an area with several cages. At a quick glance he thought he was looking at cages meant to hold dragons, but realized they were much too small. The Viking was thrown in unceremoniously and the heavy gate closed behind him, locking. Snotlout got on his feet and glared with wet and bloodshot eyes, panting. The men who had wrestled him into the cage were laughing as if they just played an entertaining sport.

"It is what they say, the Vikings being strong as an ox," one man said, wiping sweat from his brow, and Snotlout could immediately tell he was the one in charge of the ship. "But they also say they're dumb as one and that seems to hold true as well! I also now see the stories of dragon riders are not just tall tale… you and your lizard sure put up a fight, lad!"

He got spit in the face as a response. "You're going to regret this," Snotlout snarled. "They'll come for me! They'll burn you all to the ground!"

The man's face had reddened significantly at being spit on, but he resisted the urge to open the gate and beat the subdued prisoner. "We'll see about that, last I saw your friends were turning tail and running! Cowards!"

With that, he turned on his heel and stomped away. The other men followed suit, leaving only a single guard at the door who warily eyed him and kept his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Snotlout slowed his breath. His adrenaline was fading. First his eyes combed the room, looking for any chance of escape. He quickly assessed that wouldn't be possible on his own. All the while, repeating in his head like a mantra,  _Hookfang oh, no. Hookfang, Hooky_ …

His dragon had been killed in a cruel, horrible way. And he could only watch. If only he had just fought harder. Snotlout didn't even try to hide the tears streaming down his face and body-shaking sobs, too distressed to acknowledge the shame. The pain in his shoulder throbbed like nothing he experienced before, the arrow completely passing through his flesh, yet it was nothing compared to the flashing images of Hookfang's death in his vision. He attempted to roll his shoulder, but now out of survival mode, the smallest wiggle produced shooting pain that made him see white. He needed to get out, avenge his dragon. But he needed help. He had to wait for the other riders to come to him.

-

Snotlout was no stranger to being held hostage. Since becoming a dragon rider, he and his comrades had been held against their will at some time or another - multiple instances for some. It was an occupational hazard. He had attempted to stay calm, but was so distraught about Hookfang he hardly noticed the passing of days. The morning after his initial capture, after a sleepless night someone rattled his cage open. Immediately the Viking leaped to his feet, ignoring the protests of his bounds and screaming shoulder pain, "What do you want from me? Are you dragon trappers?"

He got a punch to the jaw in response, sending him to the ground. Wordlessly the man grabbed the arrow and flexed. Snotlout cried out, and heard the wood snap. Without any regard to comfort, the man jerked the arrow out of his body and flung it behind him. Snotlout felt a cold flush rush over him and then the pain returned three-fold. The man had dipped his fingers into some sort of salve and roughly jammed it into the open wound. Snotlout was squirming and biting his lip so hard he tasted blood trying not to yell out. Then as quickly as he came, the man stood up and left with a simple, "Shut it with your whining," and snatched the helmet off his head on the way out.

He was only let out of his binds once a day to drink water and relieve himself, and he used this time on the deck to try to get a look at landmarks around them, but it was just expansive ocean. He was only able to note they were heading West from the rising and setting sun, away from Berk. At first he denied the little amount of food they gave him - he was too sick over his dragon to consider eating. After three days his body would no longer let himself go unnourished and he stubbornly relented, though the stale food made him nauseous. He quickly learned that talking to or questioning his captors was met with a swift punch or beating as he quickly accumulated bruises. All the while, he slowly experimented with moving his shoulder. Gradually, too slowly and painfully, he was able to move it just a little more with the passing days. He also tried to make sense of these people… they were different.

Unlike the typical Viking, their frames were much more compact and their height shorter. Though they shared the same language, their accents were something Snotlout had never heard before. They were clearly not people of his known Archipelago, and Snotlout had no idea where they may have come from.

As time passed far too slowly, he anxiously wondered what could be taking Hiccup and the others so long. Historically, their rescue missions could sometimes take a day or two to formulate a plan… but why was it taking so long this time?

-

It was when he was locked in his cage on the night of the seventh day, bound and hungry, he finally realized: they're not coming for you.

The last time Snotlout spoke to Hiccup, he said something horrible. He implied that Hiccup's deceased father wouldn't even want his own son as chief… Snotlout didn't even know why he said it, he didn't truly believe that, at least not now… but even before that moment. Though it never came down to beatings, Snotlout tormented his older cousin on a daily basis all throughout childhood. Made it clear that he was a failure to his people, and he probably would've continued to do so had Hiccup not become the unlikely hero of Berk. And the rest of the dragon riders would follow their adored Hiccup blindly. Fishlegs hated Snotlout, thinking of him as a complete moron, and they had their fair share of animosity growing up together as well. Astrid had clear disgust for him after all the years of his unreciprocated flirting, and the twins clearly had no concern as well, delighting in near-death situations he would get thrown into on missions. Even the people of Berk never took him seriously - his words were usually met with eyerolls and a dismissive shake of the head. As he spent days of solitude with nothing but his thoughts, it occurred to him more and more: there was no reason for them to want to come to his rescue.

He thought to his father, how he would never let someone take his son so easily. Surely he would come for him. But his heart sank, deep down he knew Spitelout was loyal to his chief no matter the circumstances, and if Hiccup decided to forbid a rescue mission, his father would follow orders.

Besides, what did his father have to gain from rescuing him? All throughout his life Spitelout pushed his son to be the best and to make the Jorgensons proud. The day he was taken, Snotlout brought disgrace to the clan. Had he gone home that day, he probably would have been given a beating and disowned. And what kind of warrior and Viking was he, being downed from Hookfang so easily by his captors? Why would Spitelout even want to come looking after all of this?

He was a failure, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Snotlout never felt so alone. All that show growing up, trying so hard to be better by putting everyone else down: in the end it was worthless. He had no one to impress now. In the solitude of his cell, in the darkness of the ship's belly, he tried hard to blink away bitter tears. He could do nothing but sit alone with his memories. The thoughts of Hookfang and his self-made isolation was surely going to break him mentally.

-

One day he heard a commotion above deck, and soon after the sailors shoved unfamiliar faces into his room and threw them in cages. Three men and a woman. They didn't even resist, and there was no need to put binds on them as they all shook with fear. Snotlout could easily tell they were not people of the Archipelago. How far have they travelled, then? When it was just them left alone with the guard, Snotlout whispered, "Hey, do you know where we are?"

But they just looked at him with wide eyes and seemed fearful of him. They wouldn't speak to him throughout the rest of the voyage but would whisper amongst themselves quietly.

He stopped keeping track of the days - his loneliness and heartache for Hookfang consumed everything. He didn't realize it, but they had spent three weeks at sea. It was one morning when Snotlout slowly opened his eyes he heard something unusual - the sound of gulls. They had made landfall. There was shouting coming from the deck and the sounds of the ship being tied to port. Eventually the men came down for their prisoners. The four in the other cages were led single file up to the deck. Snotlout was by himself, guarded by multiple men and he was pushed forward. The sun was painfully bright in his eyes, and he winced.

He had never seen anything like what he was looking at now. The port itself was of decent size, but the land stretched as far as the eye could see. There was nothing of this size in the Archipelago and he felt lightheaded taking in its expanse. Three ships were docked as well, and he recognized them as the ones from that very day he was taken - they had burns and claw marks on them.

On dark sand of the shore there were crowds of people moving about - prisoners in tattered clothes and their sentry. The guards wore a light armor with shiny breast plates and blood red tunics beneath. Some wore helmets and gauntlets, but they all carried a weapon. The prisoners showed more diversity, seemingly from all kinds of far off lands that Snotlout had never encountered with unique and foreign features. He saw horses pulling carts and being ridden, animals only depicted in books and drawings he read as a child - Berk traded the luxury of horseback for other livestock long before his time. Sitting just beyond the shore was a long, flat stone fortress with a fenced shipyard close by. The skeleton of a massive boat under construction sat there, where dozens of prisoners laboured.

As he was led to land, he was aware of people stopping to watch, pointing him out specifically. He was pushed forward when he paused to observe their strange fascination. "What is this place?" he asked, eyeing the prisoners who worked away in the shipyard.

"Your new home," the man sneered and jabbed him with a spear point to keep moving.

At this point no one was even bothering to hide the blatant stares at him, pointing and talking amongst themselves. "That's a Viking from the cold seas! They're worth a treasure."

"That one will bring some coin in."

"It looks as if the Master has finally caught himself a Viking!"

Before he had no idea why he was being held captive… he had assumed it was to be a prisoner of war. But now he realized what exactly his fate was with a wave of anger coursing through him. He was to be a slave. He was no more than an exotic commodity to these people. Snotlout kept his head high and eyes forward. For the first time since he accepted that there would not be help from Berk, he felt a fire kindle within. He would escape.

Snotlout joined other prisoners being led off of ships - there were about two dozen of them altogether, some barely older than children and others elderly, and they were all being led into the stone fortress across the black sands. He said nothing but flicked his blue eyes around to take everything in, evaluating. The prisoners easily outnumbered the sentry, but each guard was armed and men with bows stood watchfully about the perimeter… even if he were to get help from the other captives, they would be taken down quickly.

Once inside, the armored men drew swords and spears to deter any resistance. They stood in a bare stone room with many hallways, and the air was stagnant inside this place. The man from Snotlout's ship, who had gotten spat in the face on the day of being captured, suddenly strode in front the group.

"Alright, you lot, listen up," the man boomed. "If you don't do things quietly and nicely, I'll personally spill your guts! You are now the property of your master, you will do as your told or you'll get the knife."

Snotlout could see the men and women shaking out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to keep calm though the gravity of the situation was beginning to hit. The man nodded to a set of guards, and they grabbed people from the group. Some of the captives began shouting and crying, and Snotlout realized they were only taking the women away. Some part of him instinctively jerked and moved towards the commotion to help, but a man raised a sword point to his throat and smirked. "I wouldn't be doing that now."

He gulped feeling the point against his skin and could only watch helplessly. The women were dragged away through a hall, and it was only men left, some of them weeping for their wives and daughters. The man who was speaking just continued as if nothing had happened, "Follow me."

They were shoved along into a different hallway now. There were multiple levels to the building, for they were led down passages that led deeper into the earth. Some areas were dank and chilly, others stifling hot, but all the rooms reeked of sweat and fear. They came into a dark room save a single flickering torch with what appeared to be a pool in it, and he saw one of the guards cutting binds off of the prisoner's wrists.

"All of you wash up," the man shouted, "And quit yer sniveling over your women. They'll be far better off than you."

"Don't try anything, Viking," one of the men hissed into his ear and Snotlout felt his hands become free. It felt heavenly, he had been bound for the majority of the journey and flexed his shoulders. The left still ached tremendously, but was nothing compared to the first few weeks at sea. He was aware of the guards gripping their swords tighter, eyeing him distrustfully.

Many of the men instantly stripped down and got in the water, others nervously and slowly cleaned themselves. Snotlout was no stranger to male nudity, as Berk shared a bathhouse, but still he glowered at the guards. He was prodded in the stomach with a spear. "Get in the water, savage."

With a growl and venomous look, he obliged. There was no way of escaping at this moment, and no point in getting killed over refusing to take a bath. And though this tepid water was nothing compared to the steaming hot springs of Berk, it was somewhat refreshing, to be honest: the voyage to wherever they were made him filthy. Ragged clothes were thrown at the men and guards ordered them to dress. Snotlout felt more naked than he did in these clothes than actually bathing: the hide bracers and heavy fur cape that he typically wore were taken away as were all of his other belongings - probably to be sold to curious buyers.

Once dressed, Snotlout was bound again, though the others were not. He said nothing at this, in fact he hadn't spoken a word since they stepped foot inside. The slaves were led through multiple halls, and then he was aware of voices in the distance. The hallways opened up into a well lit room, and then Snotlout laid eyes on him.

The man standing before their group had tan skin and almost white blonde hair cut very close to his head. With sharp blue eyes, he looked very hawk-like and was dressed decadently in a long blood red robe adorned with all sorts of rings and jewels. His voice was light and he looked delightedly on the slaves.

Snotlout instantly hated him.

"Ah! Flemming, you've returned with the latest crop," he said with a straight and toothy smile as he looked at hungrily on the group of slaves, inspecting a terrified young boy's face. Snotlout stood towards the back, and could feel his hair bristling, the contempt he had for this man was almost intrinsic.

"Aye, Master Carlisle," the guard now identified as Flemming said. "It was a long voyage, but a good turnout. And there is something that you may be interested in…"

That was when the hawk-faced man caught sight of Snotlout. He gasped, and then grinned, striding forward quickly. "A Viking!"

"And not just any Viking," Flemming was practically purring in anticipation of praise, "The stories are true. This man rode a dragon, we shot him and the horrible beast from the skies."

Snotlout clenched his jaw as the man -  _Master Carlisle_  - approached, and the guard behind him tugged on his binds when Master Carlisle reached to touch his face. "Careful sire, he has bitten."

"Oh, how delightful! My first Viking, such  _barbarians_  I've heard they are!" Carlisle was practically clapping. "It's not as tall as I expected, but look at that size! What a stocky brute, all muscle… and a dragon tamer, how fascinating! But to keep or sell is the question, this one would fetch a pretty penny indeed-"

"My name is Snotlout," he suddenly snapped, stepping forward. "My  _name_  is Snotlout, and I am not your  _thing_!"

Carlisle didn't even acknowledge the comment but gave Flemming a disdainful look. Snotlout took a fist to the stomach that brought him to his knee, but was quickly pulled up by his binds and breathed hard through bared teeth. Carlisle just continued as if nothing had happened, turning the boy's face this way and that and prodded him in the stomach and ribs. "And what is this," Carlisle said with a frown and poked the puckered flesh of where he had been hit with the arrow, making Snotlout hiss in a breath.

"We hit him while downing the dragon," Flemming answered. "He rode a Red Wyvern."

Carlisle looked overjoyed and gave out a high-pitched cackle. "This Viking will be worth a fortune! If the stories are true I could sell him to the trappers, or even to this rumored 'Draco Bloodfist'... I can't make up my mind right now, put him in the cell closest to the guards chambers. I suppose it can work as a labourer with the others until I am given an acceptable offer… and keep him fed well enough and fit, I want him to keep these muscles and please, no scars on the face."

Snotlout suddenly lunged forward and would have grabbed the man's throat had he not been restrained. "And you say my people are barbarians, you fucking  _monster_!"

Immediately the men descended on him and began moving him away. Carlisle had jumped backwards but looked more amused than anything, and Snotlout had wanted more than anything to strangle the smirk off of his face. The young Viking was so livid and seeing red he barely paid attention to where he was led, but he found himself being shoved into a cell. The men reached in through the bars and sliced the rope securing his wrists before strutting away and muttering to themselves. Snotlout could feel himself shaking with rage.

He, Snotlout, was a slave. He could have thrown up had his stomach not been so empty.

He anxiously rubbed the raw skin where the binds held his wrists together and looked at his surroundings. All that was provided in the small cell was a sad and thin animal hide over damp straw to serve as a bed, an old bucket and a cracked tankard. He had no more living comforts than an animal in captivity. Turning to peer through the gate, he realized what Carlisle had meant when he gave his guards instructions. He could just see the glow of a well lit room down the hallway and hear the crackling of it's fireplace if he stood in the farthest corner of the door - he assumed these were the guards quarters mentioned before. It was then he heard a weak cough to his left and a whimper.

Snotlout listened hard, and could hear the faint sounds of ragged breathing. "Hello?"

"W-What?" he heard as a response, barely above a whisper.

Snotlout put his hands around the iron bars and pressed his face against them urgently. "Do you know where we are? What is this place?"

The person beside him sounded like he could've been just a boy. "I don't know. When they took me, we traveled-" another weak cough, "-traveled far. And I didn't recognize anything anymore."

"What's your name?"

"Ra-Ralof."

"...how long have you been here?" Snotlout asked quietly.

There was another whimper and cough. "I don't know anymore. It's been so long. They took me and my Pa. Pa used to keep track of the time before he died, and I stopped."

Snotlout's stomach sank even further. Still, the voice continued.

"Master Carlisle runs the place. People pay him to use the slaves as labourers. It's mostly working in the shipyard but some- _cough_ -sometimes we'll be sent to the wheat fields or mines so that change is nice. When he and the guards get bored he'll have the big guys fight each other as sport every once in a while, but if you're small like me they won't pay attention."

Snotlout did not answer. His hands dropped from the iron bars to hang limply at his sides as the gravity of the situation set in, and his stomach turned to lead. This couldn't be it… this could not be happening. He took in a long, shaking breath and tried to keep his rising panic at bay. He had to escape. He had to.

* * *

**A/N.** Hello, friends. Once again, thanks for the follows and favorites and whatnot.  _Tyrannosaurus Ross_ \- I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize now... you're going to be sad to see what our Snotty has to go through, but I swear you're gonna have some good moments in there, too!

Just as a note, I'm going to tweak some things regarding the layout of chapters. It would drive me crazy if the numbers in the chapter index continued to not match with their titles so I'm going to combine the Prologue with Ch.1 with my next update. So for the few who are actually reading this, if you see an update next month but it doesn't appear to have a new chapter listed, that is why! On the same note, I decided that I'm going to divide this fic into three parts. Thing is, I did not expect for this to get as large as it already has. I'm trying to stay way ahead of the game, so what you all have seen is just a small portion of what has been written already aaaand it is quite a lot already. I'm going on 100 pages now for something I thought I would only dedicate a few chapters to. So like I said, I hope those who are reading can stay with me... and just considering the sheer size of what I have planned, reviews would really help me stay motivated, Thor knows I need it :} Cheers!  
_\- Rummybones_


	3. Chapter Three

 

**Chapter Three.**

 

Shouting had woken him from a restless sleep in which he had haunting dreams of a headless Hookfang.

"Wake up you lazy lot, get to work!"

He could hear the guard making his way down the hall of cells, using a sword to clang their iron bars loudly, and Snotlout groggily stood. His whole body protested. He did not use the bed in the cell to sleep that night - he didn't trust the meager hide that was provided. There were sounds of gates being unlocked, and soon a pair of guards arrived to examine him behind the bars. "Don't try anything stupid," one said and jabbed a finger towards Snotlout's face threatenly.

Snotlout didn't reply and noted how the guard put the ring of keys at his belt. He was allowed to step out, and was thankful that his hands were left free for a change. Prisoners were lined down the hallway, and he saw his cell neighbor Ralof for the first time. Ralof couldn't have been more than sixteen summers old and was impossibly thin, a fatigued look to his sallow face. The two wordlessly met eyes, and Snotlout felt pity for this boy. Had he been born on Berk, he surely would have been named as a Hiccup due to his small size. They were led out of the stone fortress in a way that indicated the other prisoners were used to this routine, and Snotlout made it a point to look at his surroundings more closely. He would need to know his environment if he was to escape from inside.

 

The sun was beginning to climb in the early morning sky and they were led to the shipyard. The carcass of a massive war ship sat there, the size unlike anything he had seen before. Guards were barking orders, and some rode about on horses. The slaves were given a meager cup of water each, a stale piece of bread and single raw potato. Snotlout didn't even try to act restrained or indifferent to the pathetic offer of sustenance, he was absolutely starving. He could have drank water for days but soon a guard began shouting orders, pointing at the slaves with a whip from atop his horse.

"You two, move the lumber!" He gestured towards Snotlout and Ralof. "Tell this barbarian how to do his job."

Ralof moved off obediently, and Snotlout followed not far after. "What's going on?"

The younger boy sighed, and Snotlout was even amazed that this thin boy was able to stand on two feet based on appearances alone. "The uncut wood needs to be brought closer into the yard," he coughed weakly and his whole body shook, "So someone else can cut it. They probably want you because they don't want to give you a tool. And I'm not very good at using them..."

Snotlout's eyes scoured their surroundings, trying to find the smallest flaw in the perimeter where he could slip away easily. Beside him Ralof went into a coughing fit so violent he had to stop moving. "H-Hey, are you okay?"

Snotlout put a hand to the boy's shoulder, concerned. But Ralof eventually stood and wiped his mouth as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. "It's worse in the mornings is all. I was sold into the mines for awhile and the dust got in me."

Ralof was leading him to a large pile of lumber. The sentry was watchful, and Snotlout let his voice dip into a whisper. "Has anyone ever made a run for it here?"

His companion was unable to hide his nervousness about the subject. "I've seen people try. But once someone gets shot down, no one else wants to risk it. They'd rather just have you dead than try to catch you anyway. We  _really_  shouldn't be talking..."

"Well, there's so many slaves here," Snotlout hissed under breath, "Haven't you all thought about… you know, fighting back?"

Ralof bent to grab the end of a large piece of wood and nodded at the Viking to grab the other. "It would never work. They have swords and bows. And we only get hammers and saws for work."

Snotlout almost laughed at that statement. "Really? You could do a  _lot_  of damage with-"

" _Stop yer yakking over there! Get to work!_ " A guard on a horse boomed, raising a whip towards them.

The two slaves shut their mouths and waited until the horse trotted away from earshot. Ralof bent his knees and lifted with all his might, gritting his teeth to lift the lumber, and Snotlout easily raised his end despite his healing arrow wound. The smaller boy almost fell forward unexpectedly. "Whoa!"

It was nothing to the Jorgenson. He thought to the Thawfest games he used to win in Berk. His father would have him literally rip young trees from the ground to train for the games… lifting a little bit of lumber was nothing in comparison. "Just let me do all the work," he said and tried to hide the pity from his voice. "Okay. Well… what about dragons? Do they raid, what do we have here? Any Monstrous Nightmares?"

He figured the next best bet would be to train or befriend a dragon and be able to fly away. Ralof, although appearing relieved he didn't have to do as much physical labor, tilted his head in confusion. "A monstrous what?"

"A Nightmare… you know, the big ones that light themselves on fire when they get mad?"

Ralof coughed. "Oh, you mean a Red Wyvern!"

Snotlout recognized the word from his meeting with Carlisle. It didn't make much sense at the time, but now he understood… of course there would be different terms for dragon species here. It was a completely different land with it's own language. Once again he was reminded of just how out of his element he was. He easily tossed the lumber towards a set of men who worked with saws as Ralof continued. "I've never seen one, but heard of them."

Snotlout raised an eyebrow. "What? They're all over the place on Berk. Don't you have dragons here?"

The two headed back towards the pile of wood. "I've only seen a few. Mostly when I was little, but I saw one fly by in the distance not too long ago. What do they have to do with us?"

Snotlout felt his stomach drop. His hopes of escape dwindled with every piece of information. And where were all the dragons in this place? "Well, where I come from-"

" _WHAT DID I SAY?"_

Suddenly galloping hooves descended upon them and Ralof cowered as the guard whipped the ground near his feet with a loud crack. "Shut yer traps," the guard was spitting. "We have work that needs to be done and all I've seen you two do is run your damn mouths! Get to work or I'll take you to the poles and you'll rot in the sun all day! Last warning!"

Snotlout narrowed his eyes and stared the guard down. Ralof had paled considerably and wordlessly went back to work. When Snotlout thought it was safe to speak again he whispered. "The poles?"

The young man said nothing in response but looked warily to something beyond them. Snotlout followed his gaze. He had noticed it before but didn't make much sense of it: two tall wooden shafts were set in the ground away from the workers. He thought he could see chains dangling from the tops, and simmering heat waves danced about the earth with the lack of shade about it. From that moment, Ralof didn't answer any more questions and kept his head low.

 

Hours passed. Snotlout still took it upon himself to do the greatest amount of lifting, but his energy was fading, and his attention went from assessing the fortress about him to just staying on his feet. He was still starving. Their sad excuse of a breakfast did nothing for him. But the worst part was the heat. The mild summers of Berk were nothing compared to what he was experiencing now - the sun beat down unmercifully and despite being near the shore, a breeze barely seemed to skim by. Though he wasn't even the most fair-skinned of Vikings, he felt as if he was baking and the temperature only continued to rise. Ralof was no better in his own way. Sometimes the boy would cough so hard he was brought to a knee, and his movements were slow and almost drunk.

"Water break!"

Snotlout wiped sweat from his brow, glad to hear the words. They returned to the table where 'breakfast' was provided and all grabbed their tankards. A guard went about ladling water into the mugs and it looked as if he was trying his hardest to miss the target as much as possible. Snotlout quickly downed his - the amount was hardly enough, but better than nothing. In the corner of his eye he noticed the guard ignore Ralof's extended tankard and the crushed look on the boy's face.

"Um, excuse me!" Snotlout called after the guard. His usual arrogant tone was blatant in the question.

The guard slowly turned around, incredulously looking at the Viking as if he had three heads.

"Yeah, I think you forgot someone," Snotlout gestured towards his work partner, who just stuttered an apology with wide eyes.

The guard put his hands on his hips and walked up menacingly. They had drawn the attention of others, and the man on the horse approached as well. "Do you  _really_  dare to tell me how to do my job?"

"Look at him, he's practically about to keel over," Snotlout would not relent. "Give the guy some water!"

"What's the meaning of this?"

The rider brought his horse in close, and Snotlout got a good look at him. He recognized the man as being present when Carlisle had inspected all of his new slaves. "You really are something, Viking. I'll take pleasure in beating you senseless."

Snotlout folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, really. Didn't I hear something last night, from this  _Master_ of yours," he sneered and then in a mocking voice repeated, " _Keep him well fed and no scars on his face?_  I think your obsessed Master wouldn't be too happy with that!"

At this point everyone was staring at the altercation. The slave's mouths were hanging open in shock, and Ralof looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at the moment. The man on the horse lost his patience and snarled. "Well he isn't here right now, is he?"

He rose the whip in his arm to strike.

Snotlout, his muscles always reacting before his brain could, was faster and closed the distance in just a second. He leapt forward and used the pommel of the saddle to hoist himself up. His fist connected, a strong right hook, and the guard went down.

Sentry immediately descended on him, pulling him away and hitting, but he still managed a smirk - his target was now almost comically hanging upside down and appeared to be seeing stars, foot stuck in a stirrup as the horse pranced about nervously. He could even hear the other prisoners trying not to snicker as the man had to be pulled down. Men were shouting for order, and Snotlout was being held back.

The guard suddenly leapt up with an enraged roar, trying to hide his disoriented swaying as he stormed to Snotlout like a raging bull, spit flying. "I'd have your head if the master wasn't so sure of your price! Men, take him to the pole!"

He was restrained and dragged away, and saw the poles getting closer. Someone began ripping the ragged shirt he wore off. It was when they forced him in between the two pillars to shackle his wrists he realized what they were for. He was forced to kneel in the dirt and could barely keep his knees to the ground stretched out as he was, with his arms pulled to either side and above him, exposing his back. Snotlout could feel his heart beginning to thud in his chest, any humor of the situation quickly dissipating. He was completely defenseless of what was to come. He heard the guard give his whip a testing crack. "I want all of you to take a good look," he heard the still enraged man booming behind him. "This is what ye get when you forget your place! Don't ye forget it!"

And then in a low voice so only Snotlout could hear, "And I'm going to enjoy this."

He didn't even make a sound at the first lash, just a raking gasp and his whole body spasmed. Even he could hear the sickening tear as skin split, and blood immediately seeped from the laceration. The guard began an unrelenting set of lashes across his back, tearing into the exposed flesh and flicking blood into the dust about them as he screamed in pain. Just when he thought it was over, the whip would crack again, violently ripping and stinging. Blood flowed down his back and he was sweating and trembling all over, a pathetic and continuous groan escaping him. After several sets he was too weak to even twist his body under the incoming whip, only hanging from his chains, shaking.

He was half-conscious when the man approached him and kneeled down with an all too pleasant look on his face. "Poor little Viking, are those tears that I see? You will learn to watch your tongue now, won't you."

With the sounds of his tormentor's footsteps retreating, he closed his eyes and finally let himself slip away.

-

He awoke to hot, searing pain as someone threw ocean water upon him, salt burning the wounds slashed across his back.

Snotlout gave out a short yell, body contorting before going silent again. When the shackles were released, he slumped and fell face-forward into the dirt, his whole body limp. He could have been dismissed as a dead man were it not for the short and shaky breaths that stirred dust about his mouth. Unceremoniously he was dragged by his feet past the other slaves beginning to start their day of work - surely so they could take a good look. He was left out all day and night. His mind was in a daze and he barely recalled being returned to his cell, but soon he found himself lying face down on its cold stone floor.

Hours passed. He was pathetic, Snotlout thought dreamily through the haze of pain, and he finally dared to move. Pushing himself off of the floor, he couldn't help but groan and shake. The wounds on his back were caked in dried blood, making his skin taut and inflexible. Hours in the sun had him burnt and blistered.  _Imagine what the other riders would think of you right now_ , he thought and stared at the wall blankly with half-lidded eyes.  _What would your father think. Can't even take a beating like a man._

Gingerly and gently, just as he did with his arrow wound, he tried to roll his shoulders with held breath. Tears began to sting at the corners of his eyes and he bit his lip. Dried wounds split open and beads of hot blood rolled down his back. But, he thought bitterly, the guard kept his word and kept his face untouched. He sat like this for several more hours, just slowly working his back and flexing in wider motions in a haze of pain, all the while thinking back to Berk and Hookfang... feeling sick as he missed his friends and family more than ever. He took in a deep shuddering breath: but he didn't have friends anymore. That was made clear when no one came for him, and the only one who might have was a dead dragon.

Astrid made it clear enough that she did not care much for him… constantly voicing exactly how much a mutton-head she thought him to be, belittling his very character, and using him as a punching bag. But Snotlout knew that he had brought it upon himself. He thought that he was doing better in recent years, but his overbearing flirting and chauvinism had left its mark.

And then Ruffnut, he thought and grimaced, she probably knew what was happening when he shifted his romantic interests towards her. Maybe he wasn't as charming as he thought he was, and she probably was aware that it only started when Hiccup and Astrid became an item. He  _did_  think of Ruffnut as a good friend, and she was pretty to him in her own unhinged way… but maybe she could tell that he was afraid his options on Berk were running low and he just wanted to find someone. Why would she want anything to do with him knowing that?

He had gotten along with Tuffnut the most of all the Riders, and reflecting on that, it said quite a lot. Though he and Tuffnut got along well enough in the fact they were both destructive and often overlooked by their leader Hiccup, how often did Snotlout put his friend down? A day did not go by where he didn't make some sort of mocking comment - what kind of friend was he to say the things that he did.

Fishlegs... he always made fun of this Rider for putting value into written word and knowledge rather than a brandished weapon. He made it clear he thought that Fishlegs was too soft and weak, a sad excuse for a Viking, and even went as far as insulting his dragon Meatlug for being slow and fat, just to upset him.

And Hiccup - need he even reflect on that? All of the merciless taunting throughout their childhood, and the defiance as Hiccup grew into a leader… but Snotlout really had thought that he had been doing better. He honestly thought that he could call these people his friends, but he was wrong all along. The damage was already done, and no one was coming to help him in his time of need. He could imagine them looking upon him now. They might say this whipping was a well deserved one, and this is what Snotlout told himself as he was lost in his misery.

 

When night time arrived the slaves were led back to their cells, some barely able to stand from their long day. Snotlout kept his eyes to the ground until the guards left for their quarters. Several moments passed, and then he heard from the cell to his left, "How are you sitting up right now?"

Snotlout just sighed and didn't say anything. He was humiliated by what the others saw. "I never asked you," he heard Ralof say, "What your name - _cough_ \- was yesterday."

"Snotlout," he croaked in reply, barely above a whisper. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He could hear the palpable silence as if Ralof was confused and then added, "I know, it's weird. It's a Viking thing…"

Then a small hand appeared outside of his barred door. It was Ralof reaching out a mug from his cell. "Here, take it. It's water from today. If you can, pour it on your back."

Though it couldn't be seen, Snotlout weakly shook his head 'no'. He couldn't take water from a sickly kid. "N-no… I'm not gonna make you do that."

The water was set on the ground where Snotlout could reach it, and another appeared. "No, take it! It's from all of us."

Soon he realized that all of the other caged men in the hall must have been passing their drinks down between the bars, for cups began to collect outside of his cell. Speechless, Snotlout scooted forward with a wince and reached for it. The voice went on, "That's one of the worst lashings I've seen yet, and I don't know how you're even sitting upright right now. Really, take it. We would all spare another drink to see that guard get a taste of his own medicine again."

And then he heard an amused chuckle from other cells. Snotlout summoned all of his energy, and with a pained moan pulled himself on to his feet, vision swimming. It was agonizing, and he shook all over as he all too slowly took each tankard and spilled the water down his back after downing a few. Despite all of the pain, it truly did help immensely as sticky saltwater was washed from his wounds. Ralof's hand appeared to begin plucking up the tankards and passing them back down to the other men. "Oh, and thanks for trying to stick up for me. I just wouldn't do it again - _cough-_  if I were you."

Snotlout, shaking from exertion, ignored his previous disgust with his makeshift bed and fell face forward into it in pure exhaustion. It only took moments for him to slip into sleep.

* * *

**A/N:**  Hopefully the editing of chapters went smoothly and the index will make a bit more sense now. In other news, I finally gave myself an actual profile and bio that was more than a single sentence, so if you want to check that out, I'll include info on update schedules for this story and whatnot.

Because of the nature of the story, there will be several OC's of mine scattered throughout. Some may be in passing, some you may see later. For those dedicated to the fandom it will be very obvious which ones belong to me so I won't be making any disclaimers with each chapter, but you know the drill... if you're thinking of using any just contact me first :}

I realize this story is probably creeping along at a very slow rate, so I thank those who are taking to the time to read. I promise things will pick up soon. And I realize that this is an incredibly short chapter, so that will not be the norm in the future. As always, reviews always keep me motivated and I love to hear from you all, so if you can take a moment to tell me what you think it would be appreciated.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N.** Real quick, before going on and reading- check to see if you saw the most recent chapter added. I updated and condensed the layout of chapters all within one night.. so despite adding Chapter Three, it did not register as an update. I know not many people are reading this, but for those who are, I wanted to point that out before going on. Thanks -  _Rummybones_

*Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

* * *

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Until he became a slave himself, Snotlout did not have much knowledge or experience of the trade at all.

In his time as a Dragon Rider of the Edge, when he and the others would make trips to the Northern Market, there were small glimpses that indicated that it was alive and well: merchants shouting promises of the sturdiest labourers that can be bought, or stands where nervous women stood behind scowling and suspicious men. These merchants knew when to bite their tongue, however. Just as many traders knew to hide their finest dragon scale hides and dragon bone weapons when they saw the Riders enter the market, they were well aware of the treaties passed about the tribes of the Archipelago and toned down their offers.

Though slavery still existed among a small handful of clans in their chain of islands, it was mostly a practice that was frowned upon by Vikings. Treaties were signed amongst the tribes that abolished the disgraceful act generations ago. His father, Spitelout, had explained this to Snotlout when he was just a young boy. One could have looked at it through two different lenses - you could say it was done from a moral high ground, or just protecting one's own. "Imagine," Snotlout remembered his father explaining to him one night with a sour look upon his face, "You have dragons flying in to take our livestock, plucking people away into the skies! Not only this, but you have plundering tribes coming along and taking your family away too, putting them on ships and sending them away to far off lands, never to be seen again!"

So the Hooligan tribe amongst many others made an agreement: 'no longer take my people, and we will no longer take yours.'

The way it was explained to Snotlout in his youth, however, it was not only an agreement to protect one's own. Many things were sacred to the Viking: the battle, devotion to the Gods, and freedom. And despite slavery being abolished for not two decades, his people grew to deeply scorn those who took freedom from others. Though their great-grandfathers had openly participated in the act, it only took a few generations to become disgusted with the very idea.

There was a story passed around Berk that not only got a good chuckle from the people, but perfectly exemplified this; starring Stoick the Vast and his steward, Gobber. There was one day that Johann the merchant sailed into the bay of Berk (this of course was long before anyone knew of the man's treachery) with his wares, bringing all of the villagers down into the docks to take a look.

As the chief was going over the goods, Johann had nonchalantly made a comment (at this point in the story Gobber would do an exaggerated yet accurate portrayal of the merchant): "Stoick, I'm so sorrowful to hear of your lovely wife Valka being taken away by the dragons! One cannot easily replace such a fine lady... yet there are many lovely, tame and exotic women available for sale from the markets that can be made into good wives. I'll even offer a King's discount!"

Apparently, had Gobber not been there to calm Stoick down, Johann's body would have left Berk without a head. And that was the last time anyone tried to offer the sale of another human being to the Berkians. So it became a practice that was always on the fringes of the Archipelago, careful and guarded, yet thriving in other parts of the world.

 

Snotlout's time in captivity stretched into weeks, and then months.

Days were the same, all ending in the same night in the corner of his cell.

He was learning the routine very quickly… they worked all throughout the daylight hours and were given two small meals a day. Their job primarily was to build warships, though occasionally carts drawn by horses would be brought in to move prisoners to other jobs. He worked endlessly on these ships, all the way from laying out the skeleton to attaching the finished figurehead. It would be rolled with the use of logs into the ocean, and then it would start all over. Snotlout never lost his drive to escape. He constantly watched and waited for the smallest slip of attention or cover from the guards, but the chance never arose. And as time passed, the scars on his back multiplied.

 

There was one morning when the horse drawn carts appeared he was ordered to join. Ralof was beside him. In fact, the two almost seemed to be paired together. It may have been because the two were so close to each other in terms of being cell neighbors, but Snotlout was beginning to learn it may be that the younger boy would not be a good accomplice in escape. They rode on the back of the cart into the woods silently, archers watchfully following on horseback. It had been refreshing to be in the woods for a change, under the shadow of the trees with birds calling. They rode for hours until they arrived at a rock outcrop where a cavern lied and many tents laid about its entrance: the mines.

He only spent a few moments in the cavern. It was damp and cold inside with torches lighting the way into the tunnels. He and Ralof were led into a dark passage where iron ore veins glinted in the stone walls. The moment a pickaxe - the first tool he was given since captivity - was put into his hands, Snotlout struck.

Snotlout was not even thinking, all he knew was that he finally had a weapon. He swung it at a guard, barely hearing the sickening crunch of a skull as he sprinted on. The Viking worked his way down the tunnel towards the entrance with a battle cry, overtaking nearly a dozen men on his own - though they outnumbered him, their skill in weaponry and battle could not compare to that of the Viking. The mouth of the cave was in sight, and he felt elation as he approached escape. But men swarmed in large number and pounced on him, ripping the pickaxe from his hand and beating him down. That night, he lay shivering and bound in wet grass, his ribs broken and back flagulated into a bloody mess for his attempt.

That was the last time he was given a tool and allowed to leave the closely guarded shipyard for the year. He left the mines the next day, earlier than the others. After several weeks the cart returned. Half of the slaves were missing, and from his position in the shipyard working, Snotlout was glad to see Ralof was still amongst them.

As always, the two worked together. Even when they were not clearly given orders to work alongside one another, Snotlout always found himself beside the young man. They would not speak much under the watchful eyes of the guard, but at night when the guards were not looking after them, they spoke to each other quietly.

Snotlout could see the boy deteriorate as they spent more time together, and everyday he was sure it would be the day Ralof would not be able to get back up. His coughing steadily became worse, and though the sun beat down on them, the boy became white and gaunt. Sometimes, he would suddenly become weak and swoon, and Snotlout would be there to catch him. "Come on, you gotta get back up," the Viking would say in a low voice, trying not to draw attention to them, "Be stronger!"

Snotlout pretended to not know why he was so protective of this kid when so many others were in just as bad shape… he was reminded of Hiccup in his younger years. Ralof was a fishbone (a word Snotlout would use to taunt his cousin in the past). There was no way the boy could go through this on his own, and the Viking was determined to be there for him. Some part of him, some guilt he was not ready to confess to, might have that thought that perhaps saving this boy would redeem him of his past treatment of Hiccup.

It was his own bad attitude and protectiveness of Ralof that got him in trouble the most. In his first two months as a slave, he was given lashings three times. Though he could not see it, his back was becoming criss-crossed with raw wounds and raised white scars - his abuse forever etched onto his body. Surely, if Carlisle was not so certain of his price, the guards would have killed him. And he could sense it as well - the men gripping their weapons tighter when they were close, and the hostile whispering between the men as they glared in his direction. Any small step was an invitation to beat the Viking, yet Snotlout would gladly refuse to submit for the price of a black eye or two.

 

Speaking of Master Carlisle himself, he saw the man very seldom.

From his cell, Snotlout could occasionally hear his ringing voice in the guards quarters. He had spotted the man a few times in the shipyard, as he seemingly made his rounds to inspect the ' _crop'_  as he had put it that one day. When he did make these rounds, it was not uncommon for him to be followed by many other decadently dressed men and women as he boasted loudly of his operations. Occasionally, Carlisle even had people such as these for feasts on the shoreline as they watched the men work in the shipyard.

It was one day when Ralof was having an especially hard time, Snotlout was summoned.

He was holding wooden panels so that Ralof could hammer them to the beams of a future ship. Snotlout was always concerned about his cell neighbor, but today was worse. The young man was declining faster than he thought possible - several times during the day Ralof had slurred nonsensical things, talking to his mother that wasn't there and not coming back to reality when Snotlout shook him. He had given the boy his ration of breakfast and water but it did not seem to be helping. He had just caught the younger slave as he coughed violently and stumbled when he felt a spear-tip poke his side. "You there. Follow me."

Snotlout steadied Ralof so that he was on his feet and whispered, "Just take it easy, okay?"

The guard gestured Snotlout toward a table in the distance. The Viking, as he always did upon seeing Carlisle, felt his blood boil and hackles raise. The man sat under the shade of a tent near the shoreline with several others. The guard, using his spear, continued to prod Snotlout in its direction until the Viking stood before Carlisle and his friends. He tried to keep his eyes away from the feast on the table - fresh fruit, cheeses, smoked fish, a whole roasted boar and tankards of cold mead. Before him sat Carlisle, to his side the man Flemming, and several elegantly dressed men and women. They wore colorful robes and jewels, the women with paint on their lips and men with perfectly trimmed hair and beards.

"Yes, this is my Viking, friends," Carlisle said, and his words were just slurred enough to indicate the amount of mead he drank. "And not just any Viking of the cold seas. It rode upon a dragon, giving my men a great struggle. Many a battle have my men fought for such a prize, and finally I have the fruits of the labour: my very own barbarian!"

One of the men with a white beard and yellow tunic yelled, "Three thousand gold for the dragon Viking!"

Snotlout didn't say anything as these people humoured themselves. He just stonily looked upon them as they drank heavily from their cups and cackled. "My apologies" Carlisle laughed, "But this one will bring quite a fortune to me one day and I cannot accept the offer."

"You there!" another man shouted, slurring.

Snotlout looked to him and narrowed his eyes. "Do you speak the language?" the same man said and then comically slowed his speech. "Can. you. not. speak?"

He was prodded in the side by the guard to answer, and through gritted teeth he hissed, "I can understand you just fine."

This for some reason seemed to amuse the noble people very much as they laughed and shared elated looks. Snotlout became very aware of the fact that his hands and fists were free.

"Barbarian," a woman with heavy eyelids and elaborate hair addressed him, "They say the Viking are unmatched in battle. Tell me, how many men have you slayed?"

He said nothing at first, but Carlisle waved his hand as if to encourage him. "Enough."

"And tell me, which weapon do you favor?"

"I can use them all. Hands work just fine too," he said with a hint of a threat, and then added, "But I favor the sword and bludgeon."

The seated men and women looked on him in awe, both intrigued and some showing apprehension. "If only we could see a display," a man said with a sigh and took a sip from his drink.

Carlisle, who mostly had been watching, suddenly had a light in his eye. "I suppose that could be arranged. Would that not be fun, my friends? To have a bit of a demonstration?"

There was a murmur of approval and Snotlout did not like the direction of their conversation at all. Carlisle turned to Flemming. "You know the slaves best, pick out an opponent for our Viking."

Flemming nodded at this. He began to scan the yard full of workers when a mischievous look came over him. He nodded his head towards the shipyard. "That one."

Snotlout turned and followed his gaze, and his stomach sank. This could not be happening.

"But that one is far too small, it won't be a fight at all!" the woman who addressed him earlier cried unhappily.

"The Viking has taken a liking to that boy," Flemming said and looked at Snotlout with a smirk. "Looks after it like a cat with it's kitten."

Carlisle put his fingers to his chin and pondered on this out loud. "It will be a classic case of the underdog. We will see what will happen! Guard, get this slave to the loading docks. Then we will have our show!"

 

 

Snotlout's heart was hammering as he was taken to the loading docks.

It sat on the far side of the building away from the shipyard, where crates were stacked to be put on ships. He wanted to pace, but was forced to stand still and wait. Eventually, the table and tent were carried over by several slaves. Carlisle and his friends leisurely followed in the shade with their drinks, laughing and having a grand time. Snotlout resented these people with every fiber of his being.

Soon they were all sat, and with a wave of Carlisle's hand, Snotlout saw a guard approaching with Ralof. He couldn't do this, Snotlout thought, he couldn't fight this sickly boy. His eyes took in the new surroundings and steadily growing crowd. Carlisle seemingly brought extra guards in to watch, and most carried crossbows. Both he and Ralof would surely be shot down if they refused or tried to run.

"Friends!" Carlisle shouted, "Here we will have a show! A Viking in battle!"

And then he turned to the two slaves that now stood next to each other. "The winner of this skirmish will get a full meal from our very own feast tonight!"

Snotlout scowled. Of course this man knew that Ralof didn't stand a chance… he was just offering an incentive to make the boy fight. "Hey," he said under his breath, "We'll figure something out."

But Ralof, still out of his mind, just looked hungrily at the foods with a sad and vacant expression.

Carlisle clapped, and then guards moved in. With suspicion in their eyes, sword hilts were offered to the two slaves and the sentry raised their crossbows, ready to fire if something went amiss. Snotlout took the sword and felt confidence return, feeling the familiar weight of steel. It was as if he had become reunited with a lost limb. They were actually giving them weapons… this could change things. Ralof took his and struggled to raise it, weak with hunger.

"Begin!"

Snotlout took a few paces back and raised his sword in a guarded stance. He watched as Ralof swayed with the weight of his sword, unsteady and disoriented. He probably never lifted a weapon in his young life.  _Okay, you're going to have to do this just right_ , Snotlout thought to himself and took a deep breath. He looked Ralof in the eye and gave a nod, hoping that the boy would catch on to his plan.

Ralof moved first, clumsily swinging the blade and the onlookers cheered. The Viking easily blocked, and the two were face to face as he intentionally locked their weapons. Looking each other in the eye, Snotlout whispered urgently, "Ralof, we have to fight back."

He was shocked when Ralof continued to struggle as if trying to overpower him. "I'm just - I'm - I'm so hungry."

The locked blades broke away with a metallic ring. Snotlout took another step back and began to circle. He had to make this look realistic to the onlookers. With a small cry, Ralof once more swung with all his might but Snotlout dodged with no effort. "I'm not going to fight you, Ralof! We need to work together, we can take them on!"

Ralof coughed hard and his eyes were glossed over and rolling, as if not even seeing the person before him. "I'm s-sorry…"

"The boy can barely lift the blade!" A man in the audience loudly complained. "A dagger, give him a dagger!"

A guard obliged, moving in to trade weapons. Snotlout attempted to convey with his eyes to Ralof:  _now's your chance_. But he was only given another weapon. Ralof was beginning to sway in place - swinging the sword had drained him. Snotlout moved in closer, lowering the sword as if to show he was not hostile. "Ralof, don't do this. I know you're hungry, but-"

With a sudden speed that he was not prepared for, Ralof thrust his dagger forward with a whimper, point aimed at the heart of the opponent - a killing strike. Snotlout's body reacted on its own, a quick and ingrained reflex developed from hundreds of hours of training.

Snotlout's eyes widened in horror.

The dagger fell from Ralof's hand, and there was an explosive cheer from the men and women watching. It could have looked as if the two slaves were in an embrace, the smaller of the two leaning across the Viking's chest, were it not for the sword passing through him. "Oh, Gods," Snotlout gasped.  _What did he do? What has he done?_

Snotlout lowered the boy to the ground, oblivious of his surroundings and the clapping onlookers. " _Ralof?_ "

The boy coughed weakly, becoming white as a ghost, and specks of blood came from his mouth. "I was just so hungry…"

Snotlout grasped the boys hand tightly, helpless. "Oh, Gods. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

The boy coughed harder, and his eyes were glazing over. He looked up at his friend with fright. "I d- I don't want to die. Pl-please do something!"

Snotlout just held his hand tighter, eyes brimming with tears. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to speak. His voice was hoarse and strained. "Th-There do I see my father. My mother, my brothers and my sisters…"

Ralof's body began to shake and take in short guttural breaths.

"They bid me take my place among them in the halls of V-Valhalla…"

Snotlout held his breath. He watched as Ralof stilled, and his eyes looked unseeing into his own. "...where the Brave shall live forever."

He was still holding Ralof's limp hand when the guards began to drag the boy's body away. With an enraged snarl, he reached for the dagger sitting nearby but a boot stomped hard on his hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said, shoving the point of a strung arrow in his face.

"A quick, but epic conclusion," Carlisle was dramatically speaking to his company. "Please, I insist you stay and watch another."

Snotlout was shaking. That poor boy. It wasn't Ralof's fault.

His vision was white hot with sorrow and rage when the guards brought a new slave over. This man was tall and muscular for his people, towering over Snotlout. As Carlisle shouted out the prize of the battle, this man gave Snotlout a hard and unflinching look: it was clear he wanted it badly. This time, spears were shoved towards them and the two slaves put distance between each other. Snotlout had angry tears pricking his eyes, and the spear shook in his hands. Beyond this slave he was supposed to fight to the death, he could see Master Carlisle fucking  _grinning_.

"Let the battle begin!"

He moved forward. The slave jabbed the spear towards him, and he expertly spun to evade the attack. He was already pulling the weapon behind him as he moved, and with a roar, he blindly launched it as he turned towards the long table. He could see the look of surprise on Carlisle's face as the spear whistled through the air. A loud  _thunk!_  resounded in the loading dock.

Snotlout was panting and crouched like a coiled snake, having put all of his weight into the throw. Carlisle sat dumbstruck, the spear embedded into a crate, point not two inches away from his skull. He had not hit his target. There was a gasp as the onlookers realized what had happened, and Snotlout took immense pleasure from Carlisle's shocked and white face. "Next time," he hissed, "I won't miss!"

Immediately guards cocked their crossbows and moved in to kill. So this is how he will die, Snotlout thought to himself, eerily calm, when he heard a resounding shout, "Hold, men!"

Carlisle had stood and though his hands trembled, his eyes filled with fury and his face was growing scarlet. He continued through gritted teeth, "Take him to his cell."

 

 

Snotlout could tell something big was going to happen.

He sat in the corner of his cell, waiting. The image of life leaving Ralof's eyes repeated over and over in his head, but he did not shed any more tears. He felt sick. Never had he taken a life in such a way. As a Dragon Rider he had no other option than to kill in several situations… but he was saving his comrades, or doing something for the greater good. Those men that he had hurt were actively trying to kill him, his friends and their dragons. That was not even including the amount of dragon trappers they left in the open ocean on a sinking ship - how many of those people had drowned? He had slain men in the mines as well in a desperate attempt to escape his slavery. This was entirely different. It was wrong.

"I'm so sorry Ralof," he whispered to himself, knees drawn up to his chest and hands in his hair. If only he had given Ralof more of his rations or water, maybe the boy wouldn't have been so out of his mind to fight his only friend in this place.

Hours were passing, and he waited anxiously. He watched as the prisoners were led back into their cells that night, and time still went on. He could hear the raucous guards drinking as they did every night. He was beginning to think that he may actually go unpunished when someone appeared at his cell. A guard that slightly swayed on his feet unlocked the door and stood aside with a glare. "You're coming with me."

He was brought out, and rather than turning into the hall that would lead him to the shipyard, he was pushed down another passage where the glow of a fireplace flickered: the guards chambers. Though he could hear the men there drinking and being rowdy every night, he never laid eyes on it. And now he stood at its door looking in, confused. A dozen men or so glowered at his arrival and contempt was thick in the air. There was a fireplace with a kettle above it, and a long table in the middle of the room littered with all sorts of empty mead bottles and tankards. Two large beams stood up from either side of the table to support the stone ceiling. It was dead silent.

It was there Carlisle sat, eating his dinner and looking all too calm having almost died that very morning.

He looked at Snotlout and gestured for him to come closer. Snotlout could feel the tension of the room as he approached the table.

Carlisle finished chewing and sat his utensil down with a sigh. "You are really becoming quite the pest."

"Good," was all Snotlout said.

Carlisle put his finger tips together in thought. "You see, you are putting me in quite the predicament. I'm a man of business," he said, "And I am here simply to make coin. I'm finding it harder and harder every day to see whether your worth in gold is worth the trouble you give my men and I."

The Viking didn't answer, waiting for this man to get to the point. "So," Carlisle responded, "As I wait for a potential buyer for you, I need you to behave. Can you do that?"

"Don't think so."

Carlisle gave another long sigh. "I was afraid you would say that."

He snapped his fingers, and the guards moved towards him and pulled his hands away from his body. They began to secure his wrists around one of the wooden beams with rope, forcing him to stretch out over the table. Snotlout tested the strong knots but there was no room to budge and forced out a taunting laugh. "You can whip me as many times as you want! It won't change anything!"

Carlisle just smiled at him. "I'm sorry to hear that. In the meantime, I have another issue at hand. My men do not mean to be so cruel to you. It's hard working out here far from civilization... the nature of the business can cause great stress. There aren't the same comforts of living at home with one's own family… my men need to let off some energy, and drink alone doesn't seem to cut it."

Snotlout blinked. What on earth was he going on about?

"For the good of the slaves, I need to make my men happy. As a male operated facility, it's hard living out here without the touch of a woman."

Snotlout's eyes began to widen and the guards chuckled, something sinister behind their drunken eyes. He could smell the alcohol on their breath as they closed in. No.

"So, until you learn to behave,  _someone_  is going to have to be my men's plaything..."

Calloused hands began to tear at his clothes. "No… NO! You can't do this!"

He struggled hard, and his voice began to reach a high panicked pitch, stomach rising into his throat. He fought hard against the binds, abandoning any sense of pride he had left. "NO! No,no,no,no… _please_ , stop!"

But Carlisle just shrugged with a mock apologetic look on his face and returned to his meal. "You leave me no choice."

Rough hands pinned him down hard. Snotlout cried out, pain hitting him like a hot poker at his insides, the guards using him as a man does a woman. They laughed cruelly at his agony, hands curled around his hair and shoving his face down on the wood as he screamed, begging for it to stop. Carlisle calmly sat eating his dinner just an arms length away.

Man after man took turns with his body, one purring into his ear "are you enjoying it, love?" as he groped the Viking hard. Snotlout's screaming was surely loud enough for the other slaves to hear, and all he could register was a fireworks display of pain. Tears streamed down his face. Whether the pain or humiliation was worse, it was impossible to tell. His bound wrists became mangled from struggling - they would heal to become white scars he'd carry for the rest of his life. He slipped in and out of consciousness as hours could have passed.

Finally, it was over. Snotlout had gone eerily silent by now, and some reptilian part of his brain repeated over and over,  _I'm still alive,_ through curtains of agony he never experienced before. He crumpled to the floor when the bounds were finally released, his breathing short and rapid and eyes unseeing. Carlisle wiped his dinner from his mouth delicately and stepped over to where Snotlout lay glistening with cold sweat, bleeding and shaking.

"Well, my Viking, what do you say now?" the man spoke in his high and fair voice. "Will we behave? Or would you like to continue to be my men's plaything?"

Snotlout squeezed his eyes shut. What would his father think. Oh, Gods. He was no longer a man. Hardly a whisper, Snotlout croaked to himself in shame, "Dad- I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry.."

Carlisle barely caught the words and smiled. He pressed his boot against Snotlout's throat, making him choke and sputter, and addressed the room. "See, men! Just as a horse, any man can be broken in. One just needs to know how hard to break. I suppose you won't be having trouble with this one any longer," and then looking to the young man pinned under his boot, "Just one more thing and I'll send you on your way."

Snotlout kept his eyes closed, sobs coming out in a small and shaking breaths as Carlisle stepped over to the fireplace. He heard coals hiss, and the man returned wielding a red hot brand. "Just so you don't forget who your master is again."

The brand was shoved hard into the skin above his hip, causing the Viking to cry out and writhe as if he came back to life. Hands then grabbed at his wrists, and the guards dragged Snotlout from the room, where he was tossed into his cell along with his ragged clothes.

He had been marked: the insignia forever imprinted into his flesh declared he was no longer his own person, only a piece of property to another. His identity had been stripped away, his manhood taken. There was nothing left, just a husk of a person.

In his time as a slave, there was always some glimmer of hope… maybe the Riders were looking for him after all this time, and would come find him and take him away from this hell. But now, he knew that they could never see him like this. He prayed that no one would ever come to know what has become of him.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five.**

 

Snotlout wore the brand of his captors beneath his shirt silently and in shame.

Seared into his skin was Master Carlisle's insignia and seal: a dagger that pierced a hand. He kept his head low and eyes averted - for a long time following that night, the guards that watched over the slaves would wink in suggestion at the Viking, or make a cryptic comment that only he could understand. At this he would flush and immediately be on the verge of sickness, feeling as if ropes constricted his chest. He dreamt often of that night, thrashing upon waking and with a wet face. He no longer rebelled.

He worked in the shipyard quietly as the seasons moved from one to another: the searing hot summer gave way to a crisp autumn, where he could see the trees in the distance change their color, and winter rolled in with a cold sea wind. Carlisle was seemingly having a hard time finding a buyer, for Snotlout still remained at the fortress as the year passed. He no longer spoke to the other slaves, and he watched as more and more collapsed in the yard to their death. Ships were always in and out to replace the fallen. And despite the deterioration of his morale, he remained physically hardy as any resilient Viking, and to his own surprise, seemed to flourish under the hard labour of a slave.

It happened slowly and steadily over the passing seasons. Though he was never able to see a reflection of himself, the men about him became shorter and narrower, and soon he was a head taller than the average man that he worked with. Compared to the burliest Vikings of Berk he surely would still be of smaller standing, but here was a different story. He should have been ecstatic, and his father would have probably sighed in relief if he saw - Spitelout was always ashamed of his son's stature. He remember words his father would say, "The weed that's deprived of sun grows the strongest!" This usually was said as the two would train grueling hours together, and was his father's way of hoping that with excessive and hard work, maybe Snotlout would finally hit his growth spurt. There may have been some wisdom in those words, after all.

But here, he didn't seem to care about it. He was beginning to care less about anything at all. The guards wore apprehension on their faces at this size change initially, but any worry died down. No longer rebellious, he had become docile over time, never wanting to relive that night in the guard's quarters again.

If anything, they grew to view him as a dumb mute. He heard a guard explaining to a new recruit one day, "Aye, that one, he's big but shouldn't give no trouble. Dumb and slow as a cow, does exactly as told."

Even Master Carlisle was beginning to lose his interest, though Snotlout would occasionally overhear guards talking about potential buyers for him - they always seemed to fall through, not offering enough.

There was one day when Carlisle was in the yard inspecting his newest arrivals when he did a double-take in Snotlout's direction, who now towered above him. "Good God, Flemming," he said incredulously, "I said keep him well fed, not to fatten him! Cut his rations in half."

So they began starving him.

 

It was one morning, the second spring of his arrival, when the slaves were lined up to work in the shipyard it occurred to him just how much things have changed. As the men delegated the work for the thralls, he was pointed at. "You there, Viking. Split the wood."

And a woodcutter's axe was placed in his hands. He felt the firm handle, and the weight of the iron head. So they finally thought it safe to give him a tool… he was no longer a threat to these people. Snotlout felt his chest constrict, and he looked at his discolored wrists as he held the axe. The overlapping scars sliced across his back seemed to burn. What has happened to him? How did he allow himself to be broken so easily? He had grown to think that escape was futile, and was well aware that no one from Berk was looking for him. And he had just accepted it. He feared that Carlisle would order his men to have their way with him so greatly that he had become mentally enslaved as well. How could he possibly call himself a Viking now… he would never be accepted back home as he was now.

 

There was a time when he could have slipped away.

The men were given their small amount of water in the middle of their shift when there was a shout. "Dragon! Dragons above the woods!"

Mass panic instantly set in. Everyone, slave and sentry alike, took cover. Snotlout saw the opening: a few archers cowered and raised their shaking bows to the sky, and all else sought shelter… rather than the villagers of Berk who would fight back with relish during the dragon raids, these people were absolutely terrified. He could make a run for it. But then he heard a loud squawk and turned his head to the source. He had almost forgotten what it was like, the sight of dragons. There, coming in from over the woods, was a flock of Deadly Nadders. Instantly he thought to Astrid and Stormfly.

Their scales were an array of bright and colorful patterns, and as they passed overhead, their intelligent eyes examined the people below. Despite his exhaustion and the painful hunger of starvation, he felt his spirits rise at the sight. Arrows thrummed close to the dragon's outstretched wings from those brave enough to take a stand, yet they were indifferent to the threat and continued on their way, calling and chirping amongst themselves. Snotlout was rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched the majestic animals glide out over the sea. And his spirits crashed in an immeasurable sadness. He missed Hookfang more than anything else. It was his fault the dragon had been killed. There was so much excitement from the Nadder sighting, no one noticed the tears threatening to spill from his eyes and his window of escape closed.

 

Snotlout, amongst many other slaves, was sold for a period of time to be taken to the mines. The journey to the mountains took several days, with the slaves sleeping uncomfortably in their horse-drawn cart. The men watching over them dozed peacefully in tents and warm by fire as they took alternating watches. The land had changed from the flat and even shoreline to rolling hills with thick, golden forests of autumn, and they arrived after three days of travel. It was similar to his first trip… at the base of a mountain was a passage, and there were several tents laid about it. He eyed an especially large one, where a familiar insignia waved on a banner. The same image was seared onto his skin, just above his left hip. It had to have been Master Carlisle's tent.

This was confirmed when he was working in the mine. He was entrusted a pickaxe to work with, and thought back to when he had resisted long ago. But memories of lashings and men tearing at his clothes came to mind, making his entire body shudder, and he chipped away at iron ore obediently. Torches illuminated the tunnels, and because the air was so stagnant and thin deeper within the mountain, Snotlout was glad to be working within the mouth of the cave. It was then he looked over and saw Carlisle talking animatedly with his men. He experienced the usual foul taste when he caught sight of this person, but then his blue eyes flicked to the rest of the company. Was that… a Viking?

He made eye contact with her. The woman standing behind Carlisle was much taller and fair-skinned compared to the others. Like many women of the Archipelago, she was a bit plump with a full figure, and her deep black hair was plaited in a familiar style. If he had to guess, she was about the same age as his mother. He was openly staring, and she noticed. He watched as she spoke to Carlisle, who seemed very annoyed by her interruption, and then they both looked his way. After exchanging words, she began to walk over.

"Here, sit," she said and her thick accent was music to his ears. How he had missed home.

He followed her, no questions asked, and she gestured him to sit on a rock outcropping and took a seat behind him. "I told Carlisle that I need to do something with this hair. You know, make you look more  _Viking-like_ ," she said and snorted with her last words, "Because it's all about show with that one. Complete arse."

Snotlout was confused. His hair had grown just as his height did - it was unruly and fell past his shoulders. But what did that have to do anything? As if reading his mind, she tried to run her fingers through his hair and he jerked away from the touch reflexively. "I just needed an excuse to have a word with you. I haven't seen one of my own since I came to this Gods-forsaken place."

Snotlout flinched under her hands again as she went to braid his hair, mind instantly racing back to men that held his head down. He grimaced, trying hard to push the thought away, but still shuddered and squirmed with every movement her fingers made, having to grit his teeth down hard to resist striking out. "Who are you?"

"My name's Vilega," she replied.

He thought of her name.  _Vile-ga_. She must have been of a tribe close to Berk, where it was common to give 'offensive' names to your children - the nastier the name, the more intimidating. "Are you a slave?"

"Oh yes," she said and her voice dripped with hatred, "I was sailing out past the usual territory when my ship was overtaken. And I was brought here to become that cretin of a person's trophy," she looked towards Carlisle as she said this.

She was pulling his bangs back and working them into braids. "And how long have you been here?"

Snotlout paused. He did not know for sure… he had lost track of the days and was only relying on the changing of seasons to tell him. "I think - I think it's close to two years."

Vilega clucked her tongue at that. "This is no life for a Viking. They're starving you, aren't they?"

The hunger pains in his stomach could have answered that on their own. "...yes."

"I could tell. You're far too thin," she said, and she was purposefully being slow with her hands so their conversation could last. He felt one of her fingers pull the collar of his shirt from his neck as if to look down and his skin crawled from the touch. Lately all human touch was adverse. Upon seeing the streaked scars about his back she hissed a breath in through her teeth. "These people are animals."

"I don't understand… if you're a slave, why aren't you working?"

"This Master Carlisle arse," she began and Snotlout felt content familiarity with her typical give-no-fucks Viking attitude, "Seems to think I'm some sort of rare commodity. Has never seen a proper lady Viking I suppose… so he keeps me like some trophy. Shows me off to his friends, they apparently get quite the rise out of my looks. I reckon I'm a bit more woman than the ladies around here in all the right places. So. They gawk, I have to pretend to care."

"Do.. does he…" Snotlout began, afraid to say it.

But she just laughed. "Oh Valhalla, no! These men are terrified, they're too afraid to try to bed me. I just have to keep them company. Sit at their tables, let them ogle me and comment on how much of a  _savage_  I am…" and then her voice got dark, "And I'll play the part for a bit. Let them think they can drop their weapons a bit more each day, or maybe one of these men will try to get me in the sack alone from the others. They'll take me for an easy-tempered yak heifer... they already are on their way to that. And just when they drop their guard, out comes the bull!"

And she tugged on his scalp at this, feeling her words passionately, and then nodded towards Carlisle still talking away. "I'll be excited to put my hands around that one's neck.  _He_  certainly won't try anything with me."

Snotlout swallowed. He felt as if she knew something, something deeply personal and humiliating. "He doesn't care for women," she said and then added with a spit to the ground, "But you're much too old for him, so no need for you to worry. Sick bastard... I've seen what kind of young boys he brings to his chambers…"

He never thought that he could think any less of Master Carlisle, but her words stung Snotlout to the core. He felt sick to his stomach and could have actually been ill if Vilega didn't distract him. "And you, I haven't even let you speak. What's your name?"

"Snotlout," he answered quietly.

"Say, do I know you? You look a bit familiar. From what tribe do you hail?"

"The Hooligans of Berk."

She gasped in excitement. "Berk! I know, now! I was there many years ago for the Thawfest with my husband. I thought I recognized you… you won the games! And I have heard so much of the dragons being tamed... it's amazing."

He could not believe what he was hearing. Of all the chances to run into someone, in this place… and he found himself smiling. The expression felt so alien, he couldn't remember the last time he smiled. "There," Vilega said with satisfaction. She had pulled his bangs back and braided them so they met behind his head, and let the rest of his hair hang behind his shoulders. She added a small ornamental braid behind his left ear. "Isn't that better, now that you don't have hair in your eyes?"

"It is," Snotlout said with thanks in his voice. It wasn't exactly an unmanly thing to know how to braid and style your own hair or beard for a Viking male. In fact, the more intricate the plaits the better… he just hadn't put any thought towards it. So now the two sat facing each other.

"Aye," Vilega said, "I remember you now. You were just a young whelp then. But Gods, you and your axe throws! Like art it was for such a young lad. Of course, this was all before the dragons… I've heard of the races and have wanted to see for myself. But I was busy sailing, I was making maps before all of this happened."

"Yeah, things are-" Snotlout began with a chuckle but then corrected himself, losing his smile. "-things  _were_  different."

Just then, someone called over. "Viking woman! Come back here at once."

It was Master Carlisle. Vilega, turning her face away from the man's sight, rolled her eyes as she stood. "Like I said… one day, the bull! I'll come find you again."

 

That night, Snotlout slept with the other captive men outside in the grass. They had no fire or furs to warm them, and other slaves shivered in the cool breezes, but Snotlout was comfortable in the crisp autumn air. He had taken his shirt off and bundled it behind his head to serve as a pillow and laid facing the sky, fingers intertwined on his stomach. He could hear the crackling of fire from the guard's tents and the occasional murmur of men taking turns to keep watch, but all else was quiet.

He looked up at the stars splashed across the deep and dark night sky. For the first time in a very long while, he felt a small sliver of contentment. By this point, the constant dull ache of hunger was something he was used to, and all of his muscles hurt from swinging the pickaxe all day… but that was another familiar ache as well. He was gazing at the night sky for the first time in close to two years, and it was humbling to say the least. He was looking at the same stars that could be seen from the Jorgenson house in Berk. He recognized the constellations - the fisherman, the wolf's mouth… he wondered if anyone from his home island still thought of him. If he was remembered. Mostly likely not.

Snotlout became aware of whispered words coming from the direction of the flickering fire where guards sat and listened.

"-get that Viking to teach us a thing or two."

Snotlout looked over towards the fire without moving his head. He recognized the silhouette of Flemming, and he was holding something round in his hand. "Carlisle won't know what to do when we're gone," Flemming chuckled and spoke in a low voice, "We'll see how well he does when I'm not there."

The man sitting beside him was a familiar guard, but Snotlout did not know his name. "What if he won't teach us?"

"The fool won't have a choice," Flemming hissed, "He either teaches us how to raise and tame this dragon or he gets beheaded. Easy enough."

"But what if," the other man asked with doubt in his voice, "What if the Viking uses this dragon against us instead?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This egg was a lot of trouble to get my hands on and I will not let some stubborn Viking ruin this for me. We  _will_  abandon the post, we  _will_ steal this dragon rider, and he  _will_ show us the ways of the Riders. Then we'll kill him, and make a name for ourselves!"

Snotlout still lay unmoving but he watched intently as the men rose, and saw Flemming put the dragon egg in the right side pocket of his tunic. As they stepped past he closed his eyes to feign sleep.

 

The following days he toiled in the mines.

Snotlout was led deep into the tunnels where it would have been black as night if torches did not illuminate the way. The air was very thin below the earth, and sometimes he felt he was only inhaling fumes from the burning lamps and would become very dizzy. It was easy to tell which men spent the majority of their slavery in the mines for they were white as ghosts and drew short, rasping breaths. Snotlout thought to Ralof and the boy's wheezing… would this be his fate as well?

He was surprised one day, as he was swinging back the pickaxe, for Vilega to appear beside him and he startled. "I've brought you something," she said, looking about and making sure no one could see. The guards had their back turned, and she seemed to not want the other labourers to see as well. She thrust her hand down his pocket for just a moment, causing him to jump. She had left something inside. "You need to take care of your own," she said with a wink and slipped away.

Later that night as he lay under the stars once more and was sure no one watched, Snotlout removed the items from his pocket. An apple, jerky and a sort of pastry waited for him. It was the best meal he could ever remember having, yet he immediately became sick and tossed it back in the grass - his stomach was not used to eating these kinds of foods.

Vilega would often find him, bringing him treats. It amazed him how she was able to move about so freely. Unless she strayed out of sight from one of Carlisle's men, she practically was able to do as she pleased. Snotlout realized she was right - the more complacent they viewed her, the more she was able to do. He supposed the same happened with him, with the gradual introduction of tools as his morale faded. However, Vilega seemed to have more freedom being a woman. Little did their captors know that Viking women were just as much a threat to their safety as any man was... and his new friend was taking advantage of this assumption. She brought him all sorts of food that she had taken from the Master's dinner table - smoked herring, fresh baked breads, fruit and vines of cherry tomatoes - and even managed to sneak him a cup of wine once which he downed in one gulp. It had made the rest of his shift a bit more tolerable.

If Vilega had not been there to help him, he may have had a similar fate as Ralof. Then one day, when the mines had been stripped of their iron ore, guards called for the men to line up. They were being taken back to the shore. Snotlout's blue eyes combed the tents beside the mine looking for her. The horse-drawn carts awaited them, and Snotlout jumped aboard as men yelled orders, turning and looking for his friend. He then spotted her, many tents away, standing behind Master Carlisle. His heart twisted. This woman has done so much for him, and he was never able to do anything for her in return. He simply raised a hand in goodbye as the carts began moving away, and caught a glimpse of her winking before they turned a corner, the trees shrouding his view.

 

 

Following the labour of the mines, working the shipyard was mind numbing and grueling.

Snotlout worked the woodcutter's axe, splitting wood with hardly a thought. It became his usual post - not many men could swing the axe as deft and accurately as he could without exhaustion. His muscles stayed taut, but without the help of Vilega in the mines, his hunger became overwhelming and his waist grew small and ribs visible.

One day, as he raised the axe, there was a sudden commotion. Men were shouting, and he looked up to see someone darting in his direction. The thrum of arrows filled the air, and he realized he was looking at someone making a run for it. He did not recognize their face - perhaps one of the new prisoners the latest ships had brought in. The man was sprinting across the shipyard, and somehow, the arrows only flew past with whistles and did not find the target. Snotlout's post was just close enough to the wall...

Snotlout, without thinking, called out. "You there!"

The prisoner, not slowing, looked over to see Snotlout drop to a knee and cup his hands. No other words need be spoken. The slave, a lanky and fit young man, ran towards him and thrust his foot into Snotlout's hand. With a grunt, he hoisted and threw the man towards the wall behind him. The escapee, all the while arrows humming past, managed to gain his footing and clambered over. Snotlout grinned when he heard an almost nonchalant, "thanks!" over the other side.

He was still looking towards the spot he last saw this person with a smile tugging at his lips when angry footsteps approached. "You  _stupid_ ," a guard boomed, " _Boorish,_  slow Viking! How dare you assist an escapee!"

And the man went to shove him with all of his weight, but Snotlout only took a half step back under the guard's push. He had never been more aware of his newfound size. Flustered, the guard then pulled his whip from his side and flicked it with a snap across the ground. "You dumb ox, I will tan the hide-"

But something moved inside Snotlout. It may have been the escape of the prisoner, or Vilega giving him hope in the past few months - he easily snatched the whip from his hand and tossed it. Speechless, the guard went to draw his next weapon but was grabbed by the face and shoved. The man went sprawling in the dust, and for the first time in awhile, Snotlout watched a flash of fear cross the guard's face. It was as if he was not looking upon a weary and mute slave any longer, but seeing Snotlout for the first time - one of the fierce warriors of the Viking people, skilled in battle and towering over every man in the yard. From the corner of his eye he could see the other armed men falter at this sudden shift as well. He remembered Vilega's words, ' _They'll take me for an easy-tempered yak heifer… but just when they drop their guard, out comes the bull!'_

"Carlisle will not be happy with this, and he's left specific instructions," the man declared but his voice wavered as Snotlout stood over him. The rest of the guard cautiously approached, and still he continued with a nervous lick of his lips, "I heard you screamed like a girl last time. That they made you use your mouth. How would you like that again, barbarian?"

Snotlout's skin crawled at these words and his face flushed, fists trembling. But he said nothing, and let the guards grab hold of him without resistance.  _Take me to him_ , he thought,  _take me to Carlisle. I won't miss this time._

 

He did not see Master Carlisle that night.

"You're a lucky one," a guard growled as he was pushed into his cell. "It will be a different story when the Master returns."

He dropped to his knees, vision swimming. They had knocked his head around quite a bit this time. Snotlout waited until he could hear the footsteps of the guard retreating, and then with a groan let himself fall forward. He was only in his small clothes and blood glistened in the poor torch light.

Collapsed in his cell, face flat against the cold stone, Snotlout choked out a rasping laugh.

His back was mutilated beyond belief. As if to compensate for Carlisle's lack of presence and permission to continue with the worst of the torture, they had released fury on the rest on his body as well. The sensitive backs of his thighs and glutes were torn into, and tender flesh on the underside of his arms flayed. Bones were broken from the beating. And still, he felt relief. They didn't win. They had not claimed him...

He had been beaten senseless in the guards chambers, unable to fight or shield himself with his bound hands. Under the constant assault of fists and boots, he had hollow dread in his stomach of what was to come.

"We'll give you something to cry about," a man hissed, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat. "All we're waiting on is the word."

Another pointed a dagger at his bobbing adam's apple. "If we could have it our way, you would have been dead long ago, savage. I'll enjoy tonight."

When he was shoved back to the floor, a man delivered a swift kick to his ribs with an eager look about him. "Why do we need the word? We'll do it now, Carlisle won't mind if we play a bit."

"Just put a knife into his gut now! Kill the Viking!"

The men were hungry for punishment. Thankfully, the commanding guard barked orders, insistent on waiting for their Master. Snotlout was black and blue by now, sweat dripping from his hair. A horrid aching in his face indicated a broken cheekbone and his ribs throbbed in similar fashion. And still there was no word from Carlisle. Snotlout was exhausted, his whole body black and blue from the assault that had lasted near an hour. It was easy for the men to lift him to his feet and bind him to one of the wooden beams of the room - just as they have done before. Snotlout was on the verge on being sick now, eyes screwed shut and heaving breaths through clenched teeth. It was relief to feel the familiar tongue of the whip flick over his spine.

* * *

Snotlout had fallen immediately into unconsciousness from the pulsing pain.

Hours passed. He looked to be a dead man, sprawled across the filthy floor of his cell. Unsettling dreams flitted through his fever sleep...

His mother and father standing in the door of the Jorgenson house smiling at him.

Young Hiccup Haddock in the forge, looking up from his grindstone with apprehension.

Hookfang's dilated pupils as he felt Snotlout's hand for the first time.

Muffled shouting was slowly breaking through the haze of his dreams, the memories of Berk dissipating to the reality of the slave's cells. He woke to a man violently shaking him by the shoulders. "On your feet! Get up, get up now!"

The Viking's eyes fluttered and the room lurched when he was pulled upright, but his legs gave out. The slashes across his legs hissed and trickled blood as he tried put weight on his feet. Somewhere in the distance there was a boom, and dust rattled from the ceiling. "NOW! Get moving!"

Snotlout felt as if he was underwater. His senses reeled and body protested. How was he being taken back to work? Even after the worst of his lashings, he was usually left to rot and starve in his cell for a few days until some small bit of strength returned and allowed him to work. He was barely able to stand on his feet, his knees buckling with every other step, and his movements were drunk as someone shoved him throughout the hallways. Stones rumbled overheard. It finally occurred to him: this was no average guard dragging him along so urgently. It was Flemming and his friend.

"MOVE!" he yelled, "Move, you stupid Viking! Quickly!"

And it was not morning.

He was pushed out into the open night air and fell forward. Shouting was all around, and fires flicked about them. The half-completed warship in the yard was engulfed in flame, its wood hissing and popping. Embers danced in the air, swirling about them like a light snow. Flemming grabbed him by the hair: he was still in his small clothes and had nothing else to grab. The two men were frantic and clutched their sword hilts, looking to the skies. A chaotic tension clung to the night about them.

Snotlout struggled to find footing… he was so weak. He could hear them yelling to each other frantically, arguing. The two of them attempted to drag him, and his wounds stung in the dusty ground as his blurry mind tried to make sense of what was happening. They must be trying to kidnap him - just as they had planned weeks ago at the mines, when they thought no one could hear. Then there was a loud thumping sound followed by a deafening and garbled roar. He dreamily looked to the sky.  _Meatlug_?

There, hovering above the fortress, was a Gronckle.

She had a pattern similar to that of Fishleg's dragon with purple hue, and rage was lit in her narrowed eyes. When an arrow whizzed close by, the dragon about-faced with unexpected agility and fired a lava blast. Snotlout could hear a short scream and the ground rumbled under the heavy blow. Still he felt Flemming and the other man trying to pull him away, but his eyes stayed locked on the Gronckle.

He watched as the boulder-class dragon seemed to catch a scent, and she lifted her snout to snort in lungfuls of air. The giant head turned towards the three of them just across the shipyard and he saw something pass over the dragon's features: vengeance? She propelled herself towards them with a great snarl, wings humming, and the two men dropped him with an alarmed shout. He heard the ring of swords being drawn. They were actually going to try to fight back. By this time the shipyard had emptied as everyone ran for their lives, and it was the three men alone.

The Gronckle landed and took a single bound forward. Flemming's friend was head butted and was sent soaring, screaming as he flew through the air. Still the dragon roared, and Snotlout could only watch with wide eyes as she stomped and kicked the man with her powerful legs, his body being tossed about like a rag doll. He had stopped screaming and she dipped her head down, frantically sniffing at the broken form. This was not typical behavior of the species at all - Fishlegs always described these dragons as being incredibly docile and skittish. So why was she acting like this?

The Gronckle barked in pain when an arrow sunk into her front leg.

Snotlout slowly got to his feet, his lacerations oozing blood. Flemming, who had pulled a crossbow from the ground near him, was frantically loading another arrow and cursing loudly. He paid no attention to the Viking rising behind him, solely focused on the enraged Gronckle before him. The dragon bellowed and began charging as the crossbow was lowered towards her head.

She skidded to a halt when Flemming hit the ground.

Snotlout stood over the unconscious guard, having struck him on the head with bound fists. It was enough to knock the man out. The Viking was panting from exertion, looking the dragon straight in the eye as he slumped to his knees once more. She was huffing the air aggressively, pawing at the ground as if to charge, and she bared teeth when Snotlout shifted forward. Yet she did not attack. Attempting to keep his movements slow and predictable, he reached towards Flemming and quietly rubbed his binds against the guard's sword to free his hands. The Gronckle widened her eyes and roared when he pulled a rock-like dragon egg from the man's tunic. She urgently began to limp over.

Snotlout placed the egg on the ground and rolled it.

It came to a stop in front of the Gronckle, and she sniffed at it while suspiciously looking over the Viking. Almost instantly, the mad rage in her yellow eyes was replaced with a familiar softness. Even Snotlout, despite all of his pain and exhaustion, felt a weak smile. He watched as she gently opened her jaws and put the egg within the safety of her mouth. Something similar to a coo came from the dragon as she looked into the darkened morning sky and spread her small wings, ready to return to her nest with her stolen egg.

There was a pause as the dragon seemed to remember something. Snotlout gulped when she turned her big head towards him and cautiously began to inch her way over, sniffing. She was curious.

Snotlout raised a shaking hand, just as Hiccup would.

Palm faced outward, he averted his eyes and felt hot breath huffing at his fingertips. When warm scales were placed into his palm, he dared to look up and was met with the Gronckle looking on him fondly. He could almost hear the words in the dragon's croon:  _thank you_.

She dropped her head to the broken binds on the ground and sniffed, and then to where blood dripped down his back and snorted, pawing at the dirt anxiously. She seemed to understand his hurt, and then she looked at her own injury with a grumble. Snotlout took a deep breath and grasped the shaft of the arrow. "Sorry, girl."

He plucked the arrow from her bumpy hide and flung it far from them. The Gronckle yelped and jumped, licking the wound. But she once again gave him an appreciative and soft look. Snotlout felt a strange warmth as the two different species looked on each other in some sort of understanding, and he became aware of men shouting behind him as the chaos subsided. Panic rose within him.

"You've got to help me, please," he croaked, and even the Gronckle perked her ear flaps at the voices, pupils narrowing to slits.

It was as if she immediately understood what needed to be done. The dragon nudged him with her snout, encouraging him to stand. When he fell forward she caught the Viking and shifted, distributing his weight. He draped over the Gronckle's back and she spread her small wings, wiggling her body as if to test how this new passenger felt. Then, her wings thrummed to life stirring the dust about them, and he was lifted into the sky. The Gronckle turned in a circle as she hovered in the air, bellowing a loud and threatening roar to any who had ventured into the night to witness their departure.

And they flew off.

Snotlout felt the rushing exhilaration of flight and wind in his hair as he looked down at the fortress and burning shipyard grow smaller and smaller. It was when he could no longer see the place of his captivity he suddenly found himself laughing, yet tears ran down his face.

The Gronckle beneath him rumbled in confusion, and he found himself wrapping his arms around the dragon's neck and hugging tightly despite the shooting and stinging pains in his body, sobbing and laughing all at once like a madman. The dragon felt her rider's sounds subside as his broken body finally caught up to his senses, and this was how he fell into a sleep. She rolled the egg in her mouth in reassurance and saw the sun beginning to rise in the east. Her nest was hundreds of leagues from where her stolen egg was taken, and it would be a long journey with this man encumbering her, but still she pushed on with a determined roar.

* * *

 **A/N.**  That was quite a long one... Vilega is my own creation. Thanks again for reading!

 


	6. Chapter Six

 

**Chapter Six.**

 

Shadows moved beyond Snotlout's closed eyelids as he struggled to wake.

He was aware of something soft against him and enticing smells were in the air. His eyelids were heavy and body non-compliant. He could have slept for a lifetime, especially with an unusually comfortable bed about him, but that alone told him something was amiss. Had everything been a nightmare? He had dream-like memories of a horrible lashing, being pulled from his prison cell, and an enraged Gronckle that had her egg stolen. Snotlout, laying on his belly, pushed himself up onto his elbows with a groan. Everything hurt tremendously.

He rolled over onto his back and was met with a dagger pointed at his face. All of the prior night's events snapped to his attention. It was no dream, and the danger was not over.

Snotlout froze.

The man crouched before him was middle-aged, with dark short hair and a thick moustache. His face was grave. "I see you've been marked," the man said, eyes flicking to the brand above Snotlout's hip. "Tell me now. Does anyone follow you?"

Snotlout's mouth opened and closed, unable to form words. The man leaned forward urgently, brandishing his knife. "Tell me son, is anyone following you? Will men come looking for an escapee?"

The Viking wordlessly shook his head 'no.' To his relief, the man sheathed his weapon with a sigh. Now that he was no longer vigilant of a dagger in his face, Snotlout could see he was in a tent and was still in his small clothes, and there seemed to be some sort of bandages placed along his backside.

"Time's are changing and one needs to be careful," the man said and wiped the sweat from his brow, "Forgive me."

Snotlout did not say anything, elbows propping him up to study this mysterious person. He continued. "My wife and I were sure you would be eaten. We stumbled upon you passed out with a dragon just sitting an arms-length away, drinking water. Had we not chased the beast off, you surely would have been devoured. You've been out for two nights."

Clearly this person did not know that the Gronckle had actually saved him. It almost seemed that this stranger wanted to help him as well, but Snotlout's mind was still reeling as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him.

The man reached into a bag and handed him simple clothes. "This will be small for you but it is all I have. I washed your wounds as best I could as well. Come outside when you are ready."

This person probably thought he was in the company of someone incompetent, because Snotlout had yet to speak. His thoughts raced, unsure of what to make of the situation. After two years of abuse, the idea of someone helping him was unfathomable. He cautiously took the clothes, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Um, thanks."

He was left alone when the stranger muttered something and exited the tent, and Snotlout dressed himself quietly - as always after a lashing, he was unbearably stiff and tried not to reopen his wounds with excessive movement. His body hurt all over, and would for the rest of the week as his broken ribs and cheekbone healed. The clothes, a simple shirt and leggings, were in fact quite small for him and tight against his skin, but it worked nonetheless. When he cautiously stepped out of the tent, his mouth fell open at the sight before him.

It was dawn, and they were on the edge of a massive lake. Its water was so still it resembled glass, its surface reflecting a mirror image of the towering mountains in the distance. Their rocky peaks were capped with snow, and billowing clouds rose high in the air, soft pink in the early rays of sunrise. All was quiet and peaceful. He had become so accustomed to the bleak views of the fortress and shipyard he was almost taken aback by the beauty before him. The man was sitting on a log beside a fire, where a cooking spit hung and a sort of broth simmered in the pot. A woman was with him.

"Come, sit," he said and gestured to a seat next to him on the log. Snotlout was still taking in his surroundings and he obliged. "My name is Gunnar, and this is my wife Gertrude. We are hunters, always on the move and following the animals."

Gertrude, also middle-aged, had friendly eyes and copper hair coiled about her head. She ladled some broth into a bowl and offered it to Snotlout. "It is not much, just a simple venison stew. Eat."

He didn't need any more permission, tucking into it hungrily. He was absolutely starving and it had been two years since he had a hot meal. Snotlout sighed at the sensation of a full stomach, and Gertrude even chuckled. "What is your name young man?"

"Snotlout," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He actually may be able to trust this couple after all if they were clothing and feeding him.

The couple exchanged a look. "Snotlout? If your looks could hide where you may have come from, your name certainly doesn't. Tell me, are you a Viking of the Cold Sea?"

He faltered, wondering if it was safe to confide in the two, and nodded doubtfully. As if they could sense his thoughts, Gunnar gave him a stern look. "So, it's true. I have heard stories about your kind. Fierce, they say you are. However, I would not go sharing this information so freely. The slave trade is thriving and I hear that many a rich man covets ownership of a Viking. But, I'm sure you are well aware of that… it may be hard, but I would try to pass yourself off as one of our own."

Snotlout could feel his face redden as their eyes rested where the brand lay beneath his shirt. "Your mark. It's of the Provincial Coast Company. They are on their way to becoming the largest of the trade, or so I have heard. I don't understand it, how one could even think that a human being is something to be  _owned_."

"You… you're against it?" Snotlout gaped. Finally, after his two years spent in slavery, there was finally a name to the group of people that had held him captive. He was extremely aware of the split skin across his back and furrowed his brows. The  _Provincial Coast Company_.

He watched as Gunnar and Gertrude's face darkened. "Oh yes, we are against it," Gertrude said, "The people who partake in the act are monsters. Anyone who thinks that a life can be bought and exploited is scum. They took my nephew when he was just a boy… never saw him again."

Snotlout looked hard at them. So even people in this land were affected by it as well? "Don't be mistaken, though. There are plenty in these parts who have no qualms with what goes on in the trade," Gunnar added, "And you will need to be careful. Many would gladly tell a local trader that they suspect you to be Viking, and only for a few gold pieces."

Snotlout was conflicted. His first moments spent as a free man were not going at all how he imagined they would. He was no longer a slave… but the way these two made it sound, it was as if he would need to be in a constant state of watchfulness, always wary of his own existence in…  _wherever_  he was now. "Listen," Gunnar said, "We are sure that you will try to find your homeland, or village, or wherever it may be that you were taken. It was clear to us when we first set eyes on you that you were an escapee, so we understand that you have don't have a single belonging to your name. Do you have a skilled trade that you can survive on in the meantime?"

Snotlout blinked. "A trade?"

"Can you hunt? Or farm? Tailor? Unless you have a job, you will not last long in these parts. The land alone is not enough to provide, and you will most certainly need to purchase a weapon to defend yourself against robbers and bandits. You may be able to make a decent amount of coin to survive if you bring your work to villages."

He thought for a moment. Snotlout was a Dragon Rider before coming here, and that was his service to Berk. He had nothing else. "I… don't have any…"

"Well then," Gunnar replied, "Gertrude and I discussed this possibility while you slept. Though we cannot have you stay with us permanently as it is too risky to live alongside a wanted man, we will help you. We can teach you to hunt, and with your kills, you may be able to gain enough coin to be on your own. As long as you do your part, we will work together."

"Wait, a wanted man?"

"As long as you carry that brand, you are marked as a piece of property to that Company. You are a deserter now, and that is a punishable offense," Gertrude answered. "At least, for those who side with cretins such as them. We will help you. Hide that mark well, young man."

He resisted the urge to claw at the raised, white seal on his side - to peel it from his skin. He attempted to hide his escalating panic and set his clenched hands in his lap, trying to still himself. It was true. He really wasn't free, just released from confinement. His eyes darted between the two fearfully at this realization. "Why are you helping me?"

Gertrude gave him a small smile and he saw pity behind it. "After what you must have been through, you deserve a bit of human kindness. And I'm afraid that may be hard to find in your new home."

 

Gunnar and Gertrude were true to their word and diligently taught him their ways.

Snotlout was wary in the beginning. Though the older couple did seem quite genuine in their offer to help him, he struggled hard to unravel two years of mistrust. He was on edge and felt as though Carlisle's men would appear for him at any moment. Every snap of a twig in the forest would make his head swivel and body jerk, and he did not react well at all if Gunnar or Gertrude unintentionally startled him, often frightening them in return. As days passed into weeks, however, the men never came, and he found himself relaxing bit by bit. They moved campsites frequently to stay upwind and make their presence unpredictable to the local fauna, but they stayed at the lakeside site most often.

One evening as twilight moved in, Snotlout stood at the edge of the glass-like water and saw his reflection for the first time in two years. He was now twenty-two summers old, and the person he observed was a stranger. He had indeed grown quite a bit. It was hard to tell without familiar faces around to compare himself to, but at this point he was probably half a foot or so taller than Hiccup. His hair had lost the signature plume that he inherited from his father as it grew longer and he continued to fashion his hair in the way Vilega had styled it. Though he was muscular and shoulders still broad as ever, his waist was thin and lean from starvation. At first glance, Snotlout almost swore he was seeing his father in the reflection, but his countless scars shown differently.

 

He was not a complete stranger to hunting. Spitelout had taken him a handful of times in his youth, but his father had done most of the work then, and his mother Calamity preferred to take her son fishing. So Gunnar and Gertrude would take him out on excursions where they each had a stout hunters bow. Snotlout, despite being skilled in all sorts of other weaponry, was out of his element with the bow and arrow. Vikings favored the sort of weapon that allowed you to be face-to-face with an opponent, and most viewed the bow as being inferior and a sign of cowardice - it was not the way of the warrior to stand on the edge of a battle and attack from afar. But he worked hard on mastering the weapon, often practicing into the night when the hunt was over. His skillmanship improved drastically - when he began, he could not hit a target to save his life and once pulled the string so far back it snapped and nearly took off his fingers, but his arrows began finding their mark more and more.

There was a day when he and Gertrude went out into the woods, and she showed him how she tracked and looked for signs of prey. She moved quietly, and they came upon the large elk they had been following. The elk's majestic head was bent to the ground, rooting. Snotlout saw the opportunity with the animal distracted, and suddenly leapt from the bush that concealed them, quickly notching an arrow and aiming. The elk bolted, and his arrow whistled far into the woods.

"Damn!" Gertrude cursed as she stepped into the clearing, hands on her hips and disappointment in her eyes. "We had tracked that elk for two days! What a waste, it will be long gone by now."

Snotlout wasn't too pleased either, and she turned to him, trying to hide her frustration. "Snotlout, you need to practice your stealth. I know you were a warrior in your previous life, but learning to sneak and not fling yourself into battle will do both of us a great service."

So he listened to her words and worked harder, learning to become quiet and slip through the forest like a shadow.

 

Every other week, they walked to a nearby village where the local merchant would exchange gold coins for their fish, venison and furs. As promised, with each kill that Snotlout made, he kept a fraction of the gold for himself.

One of these days, as they walked down the road towards their campsite, another traveller appeared. He was on horseback and Snotlout looked up in interest. This man was fitted in shining armor all over that glinted in the sun, and through the man's helm, he could see judging eyes narrowing at him as if disgusted. It was war attire unlike anything in Berk - the Vikings did occasionally adorn themselves with a piece of iron as a shoulder or breast plate, but they mostly wore thick hide and studded leather armor. Shed dragon scale armor was also a concept that Hiccup had been tinkering with… but this person was a sight, adorned completely in metal with barely a crack for a weapon to pass through. The workmanship put into the suit was like art, and a massive greatsword was sheathed at his back. He could see the hilt glistening - it was fashioned to look as if serpents twisted about the pommel.

Gunnar had rolled his eyes when the man on horseback passed them by. "What was that?" Snotlout asked.

"The armies of the Holds typically do not wear such fine suits. I reckon he was a sellsword. Did you see that condescending look he gave us? They think so highly of themselves."

"Sellsword?"

"Men who are skilled in battle," his companion replied, "If one can afford it, they can be bought for protection or jobs that require brute force. It's not uncommon for them to be bought by Noble folk to take care of especially pesky bandits, or to collect bounty… but the corrupt ones have no qualms with murdering an innocent man for gold. It is a dangerous way of life, and they are few and far between."

Snotlout thought on this, turning to watch the sellsword trot away on his horse.

 

As Gunnar and Gertrude taught him how to hunt and skin, they also gave him knowledge of the world around him. The Gronckle had flown him far from the coast in which he was held as a slave to Master Carlisle, and one day when he explained the fortress and the nearby mines, his new comrades guessed that he had been on the opposite side of the continent. Whereas he may have been close to the south east before, they now explained that he was near the north west. They described the size of the continent to Snotlout, and just the idea of how large it was made him dizzy… prior to that moment he had always thought of Berk as being the largest piece of land in the Archipelago. One day when they stood on a high point near the mountains and could look out over the lake and woods, it went on and on, never ending. Oh, how had he been wrong.

They explained the culture to him, as he did not have the chance to learn about the world about him as a slave. They belonged to one massive Kingdom ruled by an elderly King who lived in a booming city somewhere in the heart of the land. The country was split into several Holds. These Holds were led by Noblemen, and Gunnar and Gertrude explained to him that each Hold operated independently from each other and had their own individual armed force, but all fell under the rulership of the King. It was common for there to be conflicts of interests between those who controlled these Holds. In the past even civil wars had broken out over these disagreements.

This was all alien to Snotlout, and he tried to compare it to his homeland. He supposed it was somewhat similar to the differing tribes of the Archipelago, but Gertrude gave him information that contradicted this. Whereas each tribe was very communal and would look out for their own, the Noblemen here were quite indifferent to their people. A tribe would provide for each other and their way was based on mutual benefit… but it was every man for himself here. He was learning that robbers, bandits, and murderers thrived in these parts and the armed forces were far too indifferent to upholding the law.

He asked his new companions a question that had perplexed him since his arrival on this continent: where were all of the dragons? Aside from the flock of Deadly Nadders that passed over the shipyard and the Gronckle that came to his rescue, he had yet to see a wild dragon in this place. The two hunters seemed to shrug at that - they had an answer similar to Ralof. Though they had caught a small handful of dragon sightings in the past, it seemed as though they were slowly fading from their land. Snotlout could not make sense of this information - in the Archipelago, it was not uncommon to stumble upon dragons in the wild, and there were even islands completely crawling with certain species. So where were they here, and where were they disappearing to?

 

Snotlout, as he became adept at the bow and the gold in his pockets steadily increased, was having a large internal debate. He had no idea what he would do when the time came for him to be on his own. A part of him ached to return to his homeland. But a nagging voice in his head would quickly convince him otherwise;  _they would not come for you then, so there isn't anyone there for you now. What will people think of you, having been caught so easily and broken by your captors. You're not even a real man anymore after what those men did to you._

These thoughts would push an immeasurable sadness into his heart, and he often stayed awake long after Gertrude and Gunnar went to sleep, sitting by the fire and contemplating. Yes, this life was leagues better than his time in captivity, but he was becoming more and more aware that at this point he would just simply be…  _existing_. With Hookfang, as a dragon rider, and a Jorgenson on Berk, he had a clear purpose. But now, he would be going day to day trying to evade capture by the Provincial Coast Company and trying to survive. Sometimes these thoughts made his breath quicken and mind race, and other times he was numb and bitter.

 

The day finally came.

Snotlout had acquired enough gold that he would be able to afford his survival, and it was time for him to go. It was a somber moment... these people had taught him much and showed him a level of kindness that he hadn't even received from anyone in Berk. But if he stayed, it would potentially endanger them, and he did not wish that upon Gunnar and Gertrude. It was a serene midday as the fall season came to an end, the sun offering it's last bit of warmth. A light breeze blew, stirring ripples in the lake. Snotlout had little to take with him, only a bag of coins that sat in his pocket and the clothes on his back.

Gunnar and Gertrude stood before him. She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug, and he resisted the urge to shudder from the contact and possibly offend her. Gunnar faltered as if he considered doing the same, but thrust out a hand instead and they shook. "You be safe out there, lad."

"I'll try," he said and looked apprehensively in the direction where the road was.

"There's something we'd like to give you," Gunnar said and then moved towards the tent, He came back with a bundle. "It's a few old items of mine. They're not in the best condition and I'd like to offer you better, but it should help."

Snotlout took the bundle and opened it up - a hooded cloak, slightly dulled dagger and a pouch for water. The Viking put the dagger to his side and donned the cloak, and he felt a familiar pang of guilt - just like with Vilega, he had nothing to give in return, and knew that the two before him did not have much to spare. He was never very good with expressing gratitude, and awkwardly struggled to find words. "Thank you… I really do appreciate it. Everything."

Gertrude gave him another hug and pat on the back and her husband nodded to him. "Good luck in your travels. Maybe one day we will meet again."

 

So he set off.

Snotlout walked alone through the woods, cloak billowing behind him in the cool breeze. He became vigilant as if at any second Master Carlisle's men would leap from behind the trees to arrest him. But he only heard birds calling and dying leaves rustling in the wind. It was peaceful, but now that he was alone it was almost uncanny. He knew the direction that the road was in, for he and Gunnar would often take it to the closest village for trading. But beyond that, it was an entire open country he knew close to nothing about. After a few hours passed, he came to the edge of a tree line where wide a stone path laid before him.

Snotlout stood in this spot for a very long time, just looking upon the road. If he took the western route to his right, it led to the small village where the trader bought the furs from him and Gunnar. Maybe he could find a way to make that village his home... perhaps he could establish himself there and learn a trade. It seemed safe and was somewhat familiar. To his left, the road ran East. He knew nothing of what laid in that direction, and he recalled his time in the ship that captured him long ago, when he had looked at the sun to see what direction they sailed. Through the massive scape of the country and across an expansive ocean, Berk was somewhere in this direction, sitting on the fringes of the world. The Viking looked anxiously upon the road, turning his head this way and that, unable to make up his mind.

He stepped to the right briskly, striding to the West.

He only made it a few paces before he suddenly swirled around, something drawing him in the opposite direction. So Snotlout moved toward the East, into the unknown.

 

 

* * *

 **A/N**. Hey everyone! It's been a few chapters since I've done a legit Authors Note so I figured now would be a good time. I'm super excited to see I have a couple followers for my story, it really makes my day! Thanks a ton for all of the reviews, as always. So, you're probably wondering 'where the hell is Snotlout right now.' Aaand, you won't know for a while (sorry heh). I actually was really conflicted over where exactly that would be because I'm torn between accuracy and fantasy. And, I personally view the films and series as fantasy first and foremost. So, this may not be taking place in the Europe that we know. I was also heavily inspired by my favorite games of all time in creating this world, and I'm sure anyone who has played it instantly noticed the similarities. I won't say where that is though, maybe someone can guess it! Also, thanks for everyone who is being patient, because I know that so far Steel and Spice is moving at a much slower pace than the majority of fics out there... I think a lot of people really like the writing where it's constant action, constant drama, and here I am keeping things moving at a glacial progression. Oh, and Gunnar and Gertrude are mine. Like I said, there were be lots of little OCs scattered throughout this piece of work. Thanks guys!  _ **\- Rummybones**_


	7. Chapter Seven

 

**Chapter Seven.**

  
  


He passed through the land quietly, no particular destination set in his mind.

Snotlout did not pick the best time of the year to set off on his own, for autumn transitioned to winter in his first few weeks of travel, and he spent most of his time cold. Fortunately he was accustomed to the freezing climate of the Archipelago, and the season in this land was rather mild compared to what he was used to… but with nothing to warm him except a cloak, he may have fallen to the cold if he were not of Viking blood.

Gunnar and Gertrude had explained to him that there were certain Holds that may be safer to pass through, for the Provincial Coast Company did not have major ties with their leaders, and he intended to head towards these areas. That was difficult to achieve, however, when he had no way of knowing where he was or where he even wanted to go.

He had crossed paths with several people on the roads - travelling merchants, families and horse-drawn carts. In the first few weeks of being on his own, he had been threatened with burglary twice. In both of these instances, the men had jumped out from hiding with a blade in their hand, counting on the element of surprise. But when they saw the size of Snotlout they faltered, and their demands for all of his goods seemed half-hearted. When he would not relent, one angrily went upon their way to wait for the next passerby, and the other pushed his luck. That robber learned his lesson and was lucky to leave with only several teeth missing.

Snotlout was learning that the majority of the people here were not very skilled at all when it came to battle. The thieves and bandits were more brazen than anything else and preyed on the fact most people knew little to nothing of how to use a weapon… nevertheless, he kept his distance to the road. He would stay close enough to barely keep the stone path in his sights and often used secondary trails instead, avoiding his chances of crossing paths with others. When it was time to sleep, he ventured far into the wilderness where he was sure no one would stumble upon him.

Just as he had anxiously thought upon at the lakeside camp, he truly was only existing and nothing more. He had never felt so alone and ached for his old dragon and friends. He would travel, eat when possible, sleep, and repeat this everyday. He lived off of the hunting skills that Gunnar and Gertrude had shown him, selling what he did not consume himself. The nights were cold and froze him to the bone when there were no means to make a fire, and it was certainly better than the confines of a cell, yet he still carried a hollow emptiness in his chest.

 

He was passing through a wooded trail with hard snow to either side of the path when he suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Before him, crimson was streaked across the powder. Snotlout cautiously moved forward to investigate. There were remnants of a charred fire and a vacant tent was erected nearby. A figure laid face down in the snow and bodies of several large wolves were scattered about, some missing their heads. It was obvious to him this person was dead, for blood pooled about them. Using his foot, Snotlout nudged the frozen stuff body so it was facing upwards and winced at the sight. The person was half-eaten. Clearly the wolves had won.

A glint caught his eye and he bent down to wipe snow away from a greatsword beside the body, then took notice of a familiar suit of armor sitting inside of the tent. He went to it and held up the helm. This person was the sellsword that he and Gunnar had encountered on the road months ago. Snotlout frowned. He remembered the disgusted look that the man had given them, yet he still felt pity. It seemed as though the wolves attacked this person after he had removed his armor. Still, he returned to the greatsword laid upon the ground and lifted it. It was heavy and the blade was broad and longer than his arm, somehow familiar in his grasp.

Snotlout held it before him, both hands gripping the hilt, and the sword moved as if an extension of his own body. The air whistled as it was cut by the swinging blade, Snotlout swiping across an imaginary enemy in front of him, jabbing and slicing. Despite two years without practice, his footwork was near impeccable. He had missed training… Snotlout had practiced all throughout his childhood with both of his parents, determined to be the best warrior of the Jorgenson clan. Even after Hiccup had trained the dragons and hand to hand combat grew obsolete, he was one of the few of his generation that continued to train. 

He looked fondly on the beautiful weapon. It did somehow feel wrong to take it, but if he did not, surely some bandit would stumble across it and think otherwise. Snotlout adjusted his cloak so he could attach the scabbard to his back and it could be easily drawn. It was common practice to give a weapon a name, just like Hiccup named his unique blade ‘Inferno.’ He held the greatsword affectionately before he sheathed it, it’s weight comforting. Looking on the bloody scene before him and the bodies on the wolves, he decided on a name.  _ Wolfsbane _ .

Immediately he realized that he couldn’t just  _ leave _ the sellsword like this, especially after taking his weapon.

Snotlout dragged the body away from the path, nose wrinkled as he tried not to look down at the half-chewn face. The ground was hard and he lacked the tools for a burial, so instead he gathered a large amount of fallen wood into a pile and hoisted the man on top. He considered taking the armor as well, but it would have been much too small for him and selling it felt wrong anyhow, so instead he placed the helm in what was left of the man’s hands. He sparked the funeral fire, and when the flames began to lick at the sellsword’s form, he set off on his way, the billowing smoke at his back.

 

Months passed, and his main concern was survival.

When he did pass through small villages, the people seemed very suspicious of him. He was exchanging a pelt to a trader inside his shop one day when the man asked, “And what is your name, sir?”

There seemed to be an accusation is his question, and with a slight falter, Snotlout answered. “Ralof. Ralof Haddock.”

He had not thought of what he would go by before, but the name came out naturally. The trader furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to question the reply, but said nothing more. And so that was the name that Snotlout gave himself to those who asked, and as time went on, it was almost as if he started to believe it himself.

He was unable to keep track of where he was. And worse, he soon found that even though he shared the same tongue with the people about him, their written word was entirely different. Occasionally he would encounter signs erected along the main roads for direction, but the words were just strange symbols to his eyes. He had learnt long ago to drop certain sayings from his vocabulary when in the villages - using the Gods names as an expression was a sure way to bring attention to him as a Viking:  _ Oh my Thor, Odin’s Beard _ . He would go several weeks at a time without even speaking, and he grew more and more quiet in his interactions with people so as to hide his accent, appearing mute to many.

The villages were sparse and dotted throughout the landscape - only little pockets of civilization amongst expansive wilderness. When he would stumble upon these places, he would ask for little bits of work to trade for a meal or a few items in many cases. It was hard - Snotlout always had a lazy disposition, but that simply was not an option here. In these cases, he would usually be told to go on and mind his business, but occasionally a villager would take one look at his brawn and take advantage of it. He had worked a mill one day, lifted heavy stone from a quarry, and harvested farm vegetables amongst many other odd jobs. One day he was even offered work by a married couple that owned an apiary. They had given him a large jar of honey as payment, after rolling over laughing at how uneasy he was around the bees, afraid of being stung by an insect smaller than a fingernail. Nevertheless, it was worth it… anything helped.

 

There was a time he was travelling away from the path when the trees became sparse and the land opened before him. A few leagues away sat the first city that he had ever laid on. Snotlout had stood there for some time, just taking in the sight before him. A massive castle towered in the heart of the city, amongst dozens and dozens of homes and buildings all encased within high stone walls. This must have been one of the major cities of the Holds that Gunnar and his wife told him about. He had never seen anything like it before. But he did not make his way towards it, instead turning to safety of the woods, not willing to risk someone taking him for a Viking in such a populated place.

 

The harsh winter passed on and flowers opened under the warming sun.

Snotlout was trudging along, tired and hungry, as always. The land about him was rugged mountain, forcing him onto the road, for any other way would not be easy to manage on foot. He looked on in concern as he approached a sort of scene before him - a loaded cart with a wheel in a deep ditch, tied to a shrieking and whinnying horse. There was a stout and fat man yelling and cursing, pulling at the horse’s reins and stopping to strike the animal with a whip. 

Snotlout felt his hands curl into fists. This man was practically beating the horse senseless, and she was frantically heaving against the cart, sweating with fear. Every crack of the whip made his body tense, and his back prickled in a phantom pain. He watched as he raised the whip again and again to hit the mare, with full force, across neck and breast. Something in Snotlout snapped.

This man was not even aware of him until he strode quickly within feet of him, and had no time to react when the Viking snatched the whip. He threw it far, and got right in the stranger’s face, stooping low and eyes intense. Through clenched teeth he spoke. “Untie it.”

“W-What? Who the hell are  _ you _ ?”

“You heard me. Untie the horse, NOW.”

This short person was red in the face and reeked of alcohol. He stuttered. “It’s just a beast of burden!”

That remark made him think back to words his father once spoke regarding Hookfang - comparing his friend to a tool or a sword that could be easily replaced - and the fire in him grew. Snotlout didn’t say anything else. He threw a meager amount of gold coins - surely nowhere near enough to cover the cost of a horse - at the man’s feet, and though he truly didn’t intend to use it, reached back and put his hand on the hilt of Wolfsbane. This got his attention.

“You’re a thief!” the man snarled and detached the bits securing the horse to the cart, shaking with what could have been anger or fear. He roughly yanked at the reins and the horse nervously pranced out. There was a slit in the skin of her snout, trickling blood. “I’ll have the guardsmen on you!”

 But Snotlout said no more, simply taking the horse by the harness and walking away to leave the fuming man with his cart.

 

He had never ridden a horse before, let alone see one before coming to the land.

Berk had utilized them at some point, but eventually gravitated to raising the yak in its place. Many other tribes followed suit: when one lives on an island, it wasn’t practical to go about on horse back when one could simply walk across the land within a few days. Also, yaks provided meat and milk and were much more hardy than their equine cousins in the wintertime. So he was quite out of his element… despite having flown through the skies on Hookfang’s back, this was something quite new to Snotlout.

The mare was a deep russet color with a black mane, muscular and lean. She was skittish and nervous, clearly a product of her abuse. Snotlout did not even attempt to ride the horse for several weeks, just holding her reins as he went about his business and she leisurely followed. Slowly she grew more relaxed in his presence, and even one day as he slept on the ground, he woke to her laying around his head, snuffing at his hair. 

 

There finally came the day when Snotlout decided he would try to ride the horse. He had picked a name for her: Juniper. It was not an intimidating name at all, but she was far too skittish to ever be a war-horse. Nevertheless, Juniper seemed more than comfortable in his presence by now and already had a saddle from the previous owner, so Snotlout finally thought it was time. “Alright,” he said to himself as if to prepare, “You’ve tamed and ridden a Monstrous Nightmare before, this will be no problem.”

Immediately when he tried to mount, she shied away and he fell. And he fell many, many more times, his clothes becoming dirty and dishevelled. After being thrown repeatedly and sufficiently bruised from it, Snotlout finally managed to sit up in the saddle, and tried to replicate what he had watched others do on horseback. Just as he saw those people do, he held the reins before him and kicked her haunches… possibly just a bit  _ too _ hard. Juniper whinnied and reared back, front legs kicking. So he fell. Again and again.

It took him time to get used to riding in this manner. It was entirely different from having Hookfang beneath him - the dragon could understand most human language and despite what the rest of the Riders thought, the two were bonded and could move as one with little need for signals. It was quite unlike horseback, yet he still tried to learn. The two took it slowly as he learned to work the rein and apply just enough pressure to his kicks, and just enough force to steer her into turns. They paced about leisurely, walking and trotting. One day, when they came across a wood where the trees grew sparse and far apart, he finally ventured to ease her into a gallop, and then a full sprint.

Juniper whinnied and tossed her head when he nudged her haunches - she was eager to run - and she lurched forward. It was as if he could feel the ground rumbling beneath him as her hooves pounded, and his hair was swept back in the wind. He experienced something similar to when he rode Hookfang for the first time - a leaping sensation, and he felt one of his rare smiles cross his face. He tucked himself low to her neck just as he would with Hookfang to become more aerodynamic. Juniper was incredibly fast and responded to his light tugs of the reins easily, her mane flapping about his face. He had never moved so quickly on land before. How someone could have beat this animal as if she was only a working beast perplexed him, and when they were done galloping, he patted her long chestnut snout affectionately and gave her one of his apples… though she was just an animal, Snotlout finally had a friend to keep him company in his lonely travels.

 

Snotlout and Juniper continued on.

The landscape around them was changing - though he could have been walking in circles for all he knew, the region had been mountainous for the most part and now flattened into a massive wooded valley. He found himself coming across a village that was a bit larger than what he was accustomed to one rainy day - there were dozens of people walking about it’s main road and even armed men of the Hold stood watchfully. They eyed him suspiciously, but no one stopped him.

 By this time he had a decent amount of coin to his name - though he had often traded the spoils of his hunt, he only tried to spend what was necessary. There was a busy tavern in the town with its own stable - a luxury he was not accustomed to. For the first time since being on the hard road, Snotlout took advantage of an inn.

After he had stabled his horse and stepped inside, he was met with skeptical and blatant stares - Snotlout was clearly an outsider and looked the part. But no one said a word to him aside from the innkeeper neutrally asking him if he wanted a room. He obliged, and stood in the room staring at the bed for quite some time. This was _ his  _ tonight. It had been a very long time since he had a bed to himself… and he was reminded once again at just how bleak his life had become. Nevertheless, he was quite content to find that food and drink were included in the cost of the room, and he ate well and passed out drunk in his bed that night.

The next morning Snotlout woke (with quite a hangover) and shuffled into the village as people bustled about. He was painfully aware of a loud clanging that made his head pound and grumpily looked over to see someone working a forge not far from him. He may have still been a bit drunk, and Snotlout rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he wandered over, ready to ask if the noise could be kept down. A man hammered at a piece of metal, hands covered in gloves, and embers flew with each strike. He had a thought. “Hey!”

The smithy met eyes with him, distracted from his work. “Can I help ye?”

“How much for a suit of armor?”

The man looked him over and burst out laughing. “We don’t have anything that can fit ye!”

“Then how much for a custom suit?”

“It’s an expensive job, and not many go about asking for armor around here. And I’m one of the best so I charge extra. I don’t think ye could afford it, son.”

“Maybe not,” Snotlout said and pulled out his bag of gold. He poured all of the coins into his hand and offered it. “How about this? And I can help you with work around the forge. I can tan leather and give you hide.”

The man before him furrowed his brows. He was older and years were etched into his wrinkles, dirty from the smoke of the forge. “That would be a task that could take months.”

“I want the best, and if you say you are, I’ll stay and help as long as it takes. If you’ll let me.”

The man seemed to consider this, every thought passing over his face, and he finally nodded. “Aye. You can split the wood for the forge, and sharpen the swords and axes if you can. I won’t be paying you, but you can sleep out here if ye need. But it’ll take time, I’ll warn ye.”

 

So it was settled. Snotlout worked for the smithy, helping with any work that he could. He worked the leather rack just as he had offered, and cut wood to fuel the ever-burning forge. He would feed ore of many varieties into the smelter and it would come out hot and malleable where the smithy would expertly hammer it into new solid form. One day the smithy even tried to introduce him to forging the metal, but that was quickly decided against. 

He had struggled in finding the right temperature of when to temper the bright orange ingot, and the material would come out misshapen and need to go straight back to the smelter. Snotlout once struck the cooling material so hard that the plate almost snapped beneath him, and the man exclaimed loudly and pulled the sheet away. “Good God, do ye mean to break it? Lessen your blows!”

It was frustrating to the Viking, and he recalled the times he had taunted Hiccup over spending so much time at the forge of Berk. Real vikings, he had claimed then, used weapons… not made them. And now he felt quite foolish making those assertions. This art was difficult to learn for him, and he thought to all of the inventions that Hiccup had made, and just how delicate and precise everything must have been. He had watched Hiccup forge metal rods no thicker than his finger before… and here he was, struggling to do a fraction of the very thing he mocked Hiccup for.

After nearly destroying several pieces of expensive metal, the smithee finally declared that the Viking would not work the hammer anymore and he humbly obliged, feeling quite the fool.

Snotlout - or Ralof, as he now called himself - had stayed in this village for several weeks, and then months. Aside from taking Juniper to the woods for rides and hunting, he spent almost all of his time at the forge and even slept under its outdoor roof. 

The smithy had him measured, and commented disbelievingly on just how abnormal his size was, but Snotlout shrugged as if he didn’t have an explanation. The two of them sat down and planned out exactly what it was Snotlout wanted - something light but impenetrable, made of a material that allowed him a lot of movement, and a suit that he would be able to put on and take off himself.

The man decided that steel would be the best answer - it was lighter than iron yet just as durable, but the cost of the material was high. So Snotlout worked hard to cover the price, and it was fascinating to see the drawn out plans come to life. Over a month, a cuirass was shaped to fit him, and it took a week to finish the boots. Then came the gauntlets. He was surprised to see that he could move his fingers just as well as not having any armor on them, and the little metallic clinks of their joints was oddly satisfying. Even after some time the smithy, whose name was Holvur, admitted that in his old age he was never given projects such as this, and had grown quite excited to show off his skills in the endeavor.

Finally, everything but the helmet was created. Snotlout stood before Holvur, trying to follow the directions on how to take the armor on and off. “It is tricky,” the smithy said, “The most defensive suits require a second person… if ye don’t have anyone to help, ye are essentially stuck in them. I tried to make this an exception. Here, look how I put the straps where ye can reach.”

It was a tedious job. From boot to collar, it took about a solid fifteen minutes to put the suit on and about ten to remove. But it was worth it, Snotlout thought. Without the suit seeing battle or the elements yet, the steel shone like Razorwhip scales in the firelight of the forge and he was more than happy with the result. The way Holvur worked was masterful - just how perfectly the plates fit together so only small cracks exposed him, yet the edges would glide just out of reach of each other to allow a full spectrum of movement - he was still able to reach his arm back to draw Wolfsbane and could even crouch, jump, and run. When they were drawing up plans for the helmet, Holvur looked down at Snotlout’s crude sketch and raised his eyebrows. “Ah. It’s different… but it’s your suit, so ye can do what ye want, I suppose.”

So on the day of the armor’s completion, the smithy approached Snotlout carrying a helm adorned with steel dragon horns, their shape very similar to those belonging to a Monstrous Nightmare. “Well, son,” the man had said and looked in satisfaction on the Viking before him, covered completely in shining steel armor. “It has been quite some time since anyone has let old Holvur really get his hands dirty with work. I can say I’m proud of this one. Thanks for yer help and patience, boy.”

Snotlout was admiring the helmet in his steel-tipped fingers. “I’m lucky to be the one wearing it,” he said quietly.

He reached up and worked the helm over his head. His vision was only slightly limited, and to Holvur, only the shadows of his bright blue eyes could be seen. Fully suited, Snotlout worked his fingers and flexed his shoulders, the metal clinking. The horns added even more height to his already tall frame, and Holvur flicked his eyes to see some villagers pausing about their day to take in a good look… he really was quite the sight. The smithy folded his arms, scrutinizing the person before him - the quiet young man who had helped him so much about the forge suddenly had a new air about him, and he realized that he might have greatly misjudged this ‘Ralof’ lad.

“I never asked ye,” the older man said, “What exactly ye intend to do with such an intricate piece of armor.”

Snotlout was strapping the greatsword scabbard across his back, and donned the cloak about his shoulders. “Something that I’m good at for a change,” he responded vaguely, and gave the smithy one last look. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Aye,” Holvur said, “You’re bound to have folk asking about that suit of armor, so ye send them my way. Safe travels, then.”

He watched as  _ Ralof _ turned, cloak billowing as he approached the stables. His chestnut horse snorted and shied away with flat ears, but the young man pulled of a gauntlet and allowed the mare to smell. The animal instantly relaxed and allowed him to attach the saddle, which he jumped on to with ease. The old smithy even smiled at this, pleased with how nimble the suit allows the wearer to be. Ralof and the horse trotted into the lane of the village where some stopped to watch, giving Holvur one last nod before galloping off.


	8. Chapter Eight

 

**Chapter Eight.**

  
  


Snotlout sat astride Juniper, looking up at old, crumbling pillars that sat in a glade.

Yes, this seemed to fit the description… dilapidated ruins, end of the trail. He hopped off of his horse and tied the reins to a tree limb sitting a bit out of sight. The Viking made sure to take a look back and see that Juniper was somewhat hidden - he did not want any bandits to come running out from the ruin and try to take his horse. What once might have been a large fortress or stone cathedral was now reduced to worn rock pillars and crumbled down walls, dead winter plants taking over. He was aware of the smell of a smoking fire and voices murmuring as he stepped through a deteriorated archway topped with snow, pulling on his helmet.  _ Take out the lead bandit, bring proof, get your gold _ , he repeated in his head.  _ Simple enough _ .

The ruins opened up, and he stepped into the snowy clearing. He looked down on where three men sat around a fire. “You there!”

Years of stealthy hunting taught him much - they had not even heard him approaching, and immediately jumped to their feet and drew weapons as they were caught off guard. Snotlout wrinkled his nose at the litter that they had thrown about this supposedly sacred place.  _ Bandits _ ...  they were always dirty, drunk, and angry. And usually had a hard time taking ‘no’ for an answer. “It’s time for you to clear out,” he said loudly so they could hear. “Priest’s orders. This place doesn’t belong to you so, go on, get out of here.”

He waved a hand as if he were shooing away a pack of stray dogs.

“And who the hell are  _ you _ ?” the largest of the three boomed.

“The person who’s getting paid to make sure you leave.”

“Ha! So a sellsword then,” the man responded with an ugly cackle, and he lowered his axe. “I see now. So, you’ve got yourself a pretty piece of armor and big sword, good for you. Why don’t you turn around and tell your boss-man that this place is ours now. Go along and play pretend somewhere else.”

Just as he had thought, saying ‘no’ was never easy for these people. He drew Wolfsbane and pointed it at the loud-mouthed bandit. “So, I take it you’re the one in charge?”

The man puffed out his chest and took a long swig of a bottle. “Aye, you got that right. Run along, now. Or, come on down and we’ll teach you a lesson. I wouldn’t mind owning a new shiny sword and set of armor!”

The other two chuckled at this. “You know, you two can go ahead and leave now if you want,” he said flatly and started walking down the path leading to their clearing. “The bounty I have is for him.”

They stood their ground, but as he approached he could see their escalating nervousness at his size and lack of fear. 

When he first began the life of sellsword, Snotlout would feel a shred of guilt challenging the men that he was to ‘take care’ of - this was not a fair fight at all. These three were truly oblivious to the fact they were challenging a Viking, a race taught the way of battle since birth, just as the dozens and dozens of others before them. But as he approached and they went into defensive positions, the thought would quickly leave his mind - he saw in their eyes the same kind of cruelty that every guard that had inflicted harm on him at the beach years ago.

He was always carefully selective when taking a job - insisting on only going after the truly corrupt. It was this new life of his that lead him to truly understand just the lengths of depravity that men were capable of…  the Priest that had skeptically hired him had explained just what kind of atrocities these people had committed before moving on to his sacred grounds, and Snotlout bared his teeth. So, if they wanted a fight, let them. “Last chance.”

The warning went unheeded, and one bandit ran forward with a shouting battle cry, raising his sword above his head as if to strike down. The Viking had time to roll his eyes at this blunder of a move as the man closed the distance between them, and he stepped to the side easily. A steel-covered elbow smashed in the man’s nose, and he instantly dropped. 

The other two moved together, and Snotlout held Wolfsbane across his torso, ready. An axe was parried, and a sword went in to jab at his stomach. He swung Wolfsbane, casting the incoming blades aside and the men stumbled. Another axe swing towards his neck and he stepped out of reach, shifting Wolfsbane to his left hand and drawing his dagger with the right in one fluid motion. There was a window as the two men struggled to coordinate their attacks, and he crouched, plunging the dagger into the foot of the smallest man. There was an agonized shout and cursing, Snotlout taking a long step away to put both hands back to his greatsword.

The dagger pierced the man’s boot entirely, and he was hollering and cursing as he unsuccessfully tried to pull his stuck foot from the earth. The bandit leader roared and rushed Snotlout, swinging his weapon like a mad man and spitting. The Viking stood his ground, waiting for the opening. That opening came, and with one side-step and a diagonal stroke of Wolfsbane, the bandit’s axe fell to the ground, dismembered hand holding the handle tightly. The entire altercation only took a moment.

The bandit emitted an ear-splitting scream as he fell to his knees, his remaining hand going to the blood-spurting stump Snotlout had left. The Viking calmly went to wipe blood from Wolfsbane as the two men blabbered - one still trying to pull his foot from the ground, the other shrieking and rolling on the ground missing a limb. The third was still knocked out cold to the world. “It could be worse,” Snotlout called over his shoulder as he sheathed his weapon. He went to the fire and scooped up a handful of burning embers, his gauntlets impervious to the heat, looking at it thoughtfully before turning to the leader.

“And you’re alive, so there’s that. This Priest, he didn’t want you dead, so maybe you can thank him when he arrives,” at this he held the blabbering man firmly and crunched the embers into the open wound. Pained shrieks echoed in the forest. “Can’t have you bleeding out before that happens.”

The men unsuccessfully resisted as he dragged each one to a pillar and bound them, using their own rope. Even as Snotlout worked, he felt a sliver of cold pity - he remembered the helplessness of being restrained with no way out. But these three brought it upon themselves… and the Priest would be returning to the ruins with authorities either way - assuming they would take the matter seriously. If every guardsmen of the Hold cared to uphold the law, sellswords such as himself would not be able to make their living. He went to the axe sticking from the ground and lifted it, nose wrinkling at the hand that still firmly gripped the wooden handle. He said no other word as he left, mounting Juniper and riding off with his proof of another completed job.

 

He had gotten a decent pouch of gold for that assignment.

Though nowhere near being rich, the life of a sellsword was much more comfortable than what he was doing before - living off of hunting and looking for little bits of work in trade of a meager meal, or sleeping amongst stabled beasts to stay out of the worst winter storms. 

He still lived as a traveler, but now he was able to afford things that eased the way of life - he now had a tent to his name, warm fur rolls to sleep in, and a small pot that he could hang over a fire for cooking. Though these items could not ease the heavy loneliness his isolated life brought him, he no longer had sinking dread of starvation or death to the elements. And yet, he still found himself camping almost every night. After spending so much time on the road, it almost felt odd to have the luxury of a bed rather than the familiarity of the hard Earth beneath him. It was only during the worst weather or when his pockets grew light he allowed himself the use of an inn.

It was in the taverns he would find buyers... the jobs were few, but they paid well, and oftentimes innkeepers held information on bounties that he could collect. He might as well have been a walking advertisement. People would take a look at him and immediately know what his profession was, just as Gunnar recognized the sellsword on the road years and years ago. He had been hired to take out bands of murderers and robbers, collect bounties of wanted criminals, and accompany people of status who could afford protection during their travels.

Ralof - no,  _ Snotlout _ \- was sitting at the bar of a tavern as he thought of this, quietly drinking a pint of mead. His left leg throbbed just above the knee - he had taken a dagger strike during one of his last jobs and it simply refused to heal correctly. It was at moments like this, out of the elements and able to think on things other than simply surviving, his mind would find ways to wander. He shifted his leg and winced at the shooting pain of his wound. He thought to how the old Snotlout on Berk would find his current lifestyle so  _ rugged _ and  _ manly _ . That was not quite the case now… it was just uncomfortable. 

The Viking sighed to himself and took a long drink… it almost seemed like a lifetime had passed since then, and the person he was in those times seemed a stranger to him. Whether that was for the best, Snotlout could not tell. He seemed to be doing so well as of late pushing distant memories of Berk and dragons from his mind, but it seemed that this may be the sort of night where the only thing to make him forget was to drink the thoughts away - it would not be the first.

He was aware of the door opening and a cold blast of winter-air swept through the tavern, rustling his dark hair. He glanced over to see a frozen and shaking woman approach the barkeep and strike up a conversation before he turned his attention away. He had his chin in his right palm, absently looking on a plate of food he barely touched. How long has it been now? Snotlout often found himself forgetting or confusing exactly how many years it had been since he was in this land… everything seemed to just blend so easily together. He thought hard of the seasons as they had passed him. He idly took a finger and begin pushing little chicken bones around his plate, each bone signifying a year. It was when he had nine lined before him he sighed again. So he was now approaching thirty-summers in age. 

_ Yes, _ he thought, and motioned for the barkeep to bring him another tankard.  _ It would definitely be one of those nights _ . He downed the rest of his mead and slid the empty tankard towards the barkeep when he became aware of the conversation that was taking place beside him. 

Snotlout caught a few words and it was as though his heart skipped a beat. His expression remained passive despite the flip of his stomach. 

No. He must have misheard. 

The Viking turned his head to the woman standing before the bar. She repeated her sentence to the bartender: “I’m looking for the Isle of Berk, in the Cold Sea.”

  
  


Snotlout immediately snapped his attention back to the plate before him, trying to hide his wide eyes. Again, he told himself - you must have heard wrong.

“No, never heard of a _ Berk _ , or any Isle for that matter,” the innkeeper stated and his voice was curt and short.

He let his eyes wander over to where the woman pulled a map from her satchel and spread it over the bar, her fingers red from the cold. “Can you tell me where your inn is relative to this?”

The innkeeper only flicked a glance over it. “You’re quite a ways from anything on here. This mountain top,” he said and jabbed a thumb behind him to indicate it’s direction, “You can see the peak from here on a clear day. What else do you want.”

Snotlout felt his heart thudding. It was impossible. He had learned long ago that Vikings were practically as revered as the dragon with how elusive and obscure they were in these parts… vague references to the Cold Sea were all the people knew of his homeland. How could this woman possibly know what the Archipelago was, little alone Berk? He continued to stare forward, but was very aware of the conversation happening beside him. The woman was pulling things from her satchel, beginning to trade items with the haughty innkeeper. He tried to listen to their words through the sound of his own heart pounding.

When the two were done trading, the woman put her new items away and reached for a stool at the bar. “And what do you think you’re doing,” the innkeep snapped, “This bar is for paying customers only.”

And he slammed a new tankard of mead in front of Snotlout as if to make a point. From the corner of his eye, the woman paused. “Can I not just warm myself for a moment?”

“No, you can’t,” the man sneered, “ _ Witch _ .”

It then became clear to Snotlout why this man was being so rude, especially after seeing the sorts of items she had traded - tinctures and little bottles of potions. While most people of this land were disagreeable and short with everyone, certain kinds of people were especially looked down upon. Women who decided to choose the path of healing were one of the few that received the worst of it.  Astrid would have been absolutely livid, hearing how women were practically second-class citizens here. It was a land rather unfriendly to females to begin with, but those who choose the way of the healer were surrounded with superstition and tales of devilry - he had overheard a few of these whispered stories a small handful of times in his travels. And he thought it to be stupid.

His old tribe had a woman healer, Gothi, and she was revered. Perhaps it was because he was from the Archipelago, where Viking women were just as equal as any male, but even Snotlout of all people could recognize the hypocrisy. Though uncommon because of the stigma, if a man in these parts studied healing, it was no more than an inferior profession. However, if a woman was to do the same, they were shunned and assumed to be witches. It was almost an insult to Gothi. Sure, he and his friends had all sorts of wild speculation of her strange ways and second sight growing up, but the shamanic healer of Berk had cured him, his friends, and his family for decades. It was a highly respected title, quite unlike the treatment the person beside him was receiving.

“I see, then,” the woman said coldly and began to leave.

Snotlout put a coin on the bar. “Another mead. For her.”

The barkeep showed surprise, and then furrowed his brow. He could feel the woman looking hard at him, as well. There was a moment of silence. “Or wine, or beer, whichever you prefer,” Snotlout added, still not looking up from his plate. The barkeep growled something under his breath and went to get a tankard.

“I know what men expect in return for a drink,” the woman coolly said when the barkeep had his back turned, and there was an accusation in the statement.

Snotlout turned to fully look at her for the first time, his expression passive despite his thudding heart. He tried to choose his words carefully, something he was never very good at.  “I don’t expect anything… just for bartenders to let someone out of the cold for a bit.”

She must have been close to his age. Her skin was fair though her nose was rosy from the cold, and she had pale green eyes set in a slim face with high cheekbones. Her hair was golden brown, pulled back and hanging behind her shoulders. She wore a long-sleeved dress of a mossy color with a leather corset, the long skirt and her boots muddy. It was no wonder she was cold, for she only had a shawl to hang over her shoulders for warmth. 

He watched as she seemed to think hard on his words, the barkeep impatiently looking on them. She pulled the stool out. “Wine it is, then.”

 

The two sat for a long time without speaking.

Behind them on the other side of the tavern, a bard plucked soft notes from a lute and the fireplace hissed and popped. The woman sipped her wine, the bite of cold leaving her face, and Snotlout quietly sat several seats over from her doing the same. The nine chicken bones he had laid out on the plate before him stared at him. Nine years. Nine years had passed since he arrived in this place, and here he was sitting next to some stranger that had uttered Berk’s name. He felt like an anxious boy, not the stone-faced sellsword that life had molded him into. A part of him wanted to run to the other side of the bar and ask her everything that she knew, and another held him back, because that place was long in the past where it should be.

“Thank you.”

He was so caught up in his thoughts of what to do he barely heard her. Snotlout looked up, and the woman was looking right at him. “What?”

“I said, thanks,” she answered, raising her mug.

“Oh, right. It’s nothing.”

“It means something to me,” Her eyes moved to the helmet laying in his lap and his suit of armor. “I take it you are a sword for hire?”

Snotlout nodded, and she stood and walked his way. She pulled a seat next to him, and he tried desperately to hide his nervousness. He felt a fool. “Then maybe you can help me, if you’re a traveller,” she said and pulled out the map, “And then I’ll leave you alone.”

He nudged his plate away to give her room, and she rolled the parchment out before them. The hand-drawn map depicted a coast and marked somewhere along the northern shoreline was a port. He did not recognize any of the land drawn out, and there were the usual scrawls of written word he was unable to read, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a corner of the map. His lips parted in recognition of the familiar runes of his alphabet:  _ Isle of Berk _ . And an elaborate arrow pointed towards the top-right area of the map, into the ocean.

 

The room about Snotlout lurched.  _ How? _

Still, the girl went on, “Do you know how to reach any of this? I’m headed to the port.”

He was going to be sick. It all came rushing back to him, everything he tried so hard to bury over time: Hookfang’s death, being taken, being _left alone to rot_ as a slave. They _never came_ _for him_. He never realized just how well he had pushed it all down until it was staring him right in the face. The Viking cleared his throat and she did not seem to pick up on his shaking voice, “I, uh. No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Thanks anyway,” she said and began rolling the parchment up. His heart was pounding as he saw the Norse words disappear from view and she stood to leave.  _ Get it together, Snotlout,  _ he was telling himself, and he realized that he hadn’t referred to himself by his real name in ages. 

“I can take you there.”

It came out before he knew what he was saying. The woman turned back to him. “Did you not just say you don’t know the way?”

He felt as if she was looking right through him. “Maybe you could use a guide?”

“I don’t have the money to hire a sellsword.”

“I… I plan to go to Berk, as well.”

Snotlout was acting faster than he could comprehend his own words. Long-past memories bubbled to the surface of his consciousness. He never thought he would hear of his old home again, yet here he was, in a tavern with thoughts of his mother and father still in Berk, and it suddenly hit him hard, harder than any weapon strike he experienced in his new life. He was becoming more aware of a panicked desperation clawing at his insides - whether it was telling him to pursue this girl and her map or leave it alone, he could hardly tell.

Still, he swallowed and made his face unreadable despite his trembling hands and motioned to the barstool. “Would you have another drink with me? And we can talk about it?”

She was looking at him intensely, and Snotlout felt an amount of vulnerability he hadn’t felt in ages. The bartender had stepped over and flicked his eyes between the two suspiciously - here he was, an outsider and a sellsword that looked nothing like their people, and a lone healer woman who most regarded as a witch. Snotlout wondered if they could detect just how significant this moment was for him. After what felt like ages, the girl nodded to the barkeep and another round was put in front of them. She sat down and watched as Snotlout took a long drink of his mead in an attempt to calm himself.

“Can I have your name, then?”

“It’s Ralof Haddock,” he answered. “You?”

“Adelaide Briarfell,” she stared down the ogling bartender until he moved away from them, “And tell me, how exactly is it you know of Berk?”

Snotlout found the warmth of the drink spreading through his body, and the shaking was slowly subsiding. What was  _ wrong  _ with him? “I’ve heard stories of it.”

“Really?” Adelaide said, with clear doubt in her voice. She thought that he was lying to her... and he was, to some extent. 

Snotlout nodded. “I’ve heard of the dragons. I’ve wanted to see them, but… I never knew the way.”

He waited for her response, unsure if he had convinced her. The bard in the corner was still playing his lute and singing quietly, and a few other patrons solemnly drank by themselves. Adelaide raised her eyebrows at him. “I’ve been trying to find my way there for weeks, and no one has heard of it. Except for you. I wonder why that is.”

Snotlout tried to keep his gaze steady and confident. “I hear a lot of things when I travel. I thought if you were going, you could use company. And I could use directions.”

“Like I said, I don’t have anything to give you. I can’t hire you.”

“I’m not asking for gold. I didn’t even know where to start looking and if you go alone… it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t even know you,” she responded, “ _ You _ can be dangerous.”

The Viking just nodded at that, swallowing.

Of course she was skeptical of the offer. It certainly was not easy to trust another in these parts, and he realized how this must have looked to her. Here he was, a complete stranger offering her a safe passage to some little known, almost  _ mythical _ area. How she even knew about it, he had no idea, but she had every reason to be careful.  _ So there it is, then _ , he thought to himself.  _ It seems you really weren’t meant to go back _ .

“I understand.”

There was a silence between them. Snotlout turned away, knowing his offer was rejected. He thought to his mother and father in Berk. He probably would never see them again. While it was a reality he had accepted long ago, it hurt in his chest still after all this time, and he mentally berated himself for having a rare glimmer of hope. He put another coin on the bar to cover her last drink and stood, ignoring the pain in his wounded leg. He did not meet Adelaide’s eyes as he intended to go back to his room, feeling her evaluative gaze on the back of his head. Snotlout then thought of something.

“When you came in, were you planning on camping tonight?” he asked, turning back to her. Even through the closed shutters of the inn the howling wind could be heard.

Adelaide looked to the barkeep, who was now staring her down with folded arms, ready to send her on her way. With a wry and bitter laugh, she stood and began pulling her thin shawl about her shoulders. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.”

Snotlout was a bit drunk at this point, and he knew he would regret his decision considering how cold it was outside, but he shook his head. “No, don’t do that.”

And for the first time since he had spoken to her, the distrustful look on her face was replaced with genuine surprise as he stepped forward, holding out the key to his room. “It’s yours.”

“Now, wait a minute-” the innkeeper started, who had been watching intently.

“I paid for it, didn’t I?” Snotlout snapped, and the man abruptly shut his mouth. “And I still plan to keep my horse in the stable under the costs, I’ll have it gone by morning.”

Adelaide held the key in the palm of her hand, unsure, as she studied him. He felt as if she could read every defeated feeling he was experiencing, and he no longer cared as he turned to go. “Good luck on the road, Adelaide.”

  
  


Snotlout woke in the same manner he usually did: cold, stiff, and solemn.

He had set his small camp away from the village near a bubbling and half-frozen stream in the forest. The sky was grey in the pale morning light and he lifted his face to watch the fat snowflakes swirl, flecks of ice kissing at his face. The sharp cold was numbing and his breath sent out billows of steam like dragon smoke, and it was the kind of winter day where the silence stretched impenetrably through the wilderness. Snotlout stood like this for a long time.  _ This is your life now _ , he told himself, thinking of last night’s event.  _ And it’s time you accept that. You should have long ago. _

He pulled his shirt off, the streaking scars across his back stark white against his pale skin. Many more additions had been added in his new career - shallow blade slices where his armor failed him along his forearms and chest. He splashed freezing stream water on himself and dunked his long hair in the water, the sensation like stinging pins, but he did not shiver. As always, he took down the small tent and rolled his furs up, stomping out what little remained of his smoking fire. The routine was especially monotonous today, and it felt as though an icy hand held at his heart. 

Snotlout pulled his shirt back on along with mail and began the tedious task of suiting himself in armor. By now it had lost much of its shine and he blended in with the bleak winter forest, adorned in steely gray with dark hair and pale blue eyes. Wolfsbane, as always, rested comfortingly at his back, and with a heavy sigh he gathered his things and trudged through the snow with crunching footsteps. He would move on to the next town to look for work, considering last night’s events brought some unwelcome attention to himself. Houses appeared before him as he strode into town. A few early-risers milled about in the street starting their day, and Snotlout kept his eyes to the ground as he passed through.

As he approached the stables of last night’s tavern, he looked up and paused. Someone was standing in Juniper’s stall near the horse’s head. “Hey!”

 

He found himself looking upon the woman from last night as the figure turned to face him. Adelaide had her hand on Juniper’s cheek, petting the horse as if they were old friends. The corners of her lips turned up into something close to a smile. “Does your offer still stand?”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine.**

 

"Does your offer still stand?"

Her breath came out in billows, and Snotlout found himself standing several paces away, unsure and caught unawares. He stepped forward cautiously, closing the distance between them. Juniper nickered a greeting to him, and he raised his eyebrows at the level of comfort she had with Adelaide - though the horse had made vast improvements on her nervousness, she usually did not take too well with strangers. "Thank you for the room," she said as she swiped the mane from Juniper's eyes, "Your horse is beautiful."

He also reached out a hand and gave his horse a pat on the neck. "You changed your mind."

Snotlout was quite unsure of what to make of the situation, and there was a question in his words. As if to distract himself, he began strapping the pack containing his things to the back of his horse's saddle. Adelaide stood by watching, her moss green dress striking against the powder of snow and slush in the street. "Perhaps. Or, I might have just had more time to think about what you said."

His searching eyes met hers, and she immediately broke contact as if uncomfortable. "I… think I may have been a bit rude to you last night. Especially after you were so kind to me."

Snotlout managed a shrug. "It's nothing."

"You said that last night, too," she said, "And as I said before, it is something. To me at least. I think it's just hard to accept a bit of kindness when it's so hard to find, and even harder to drop your guard. Even if it's right in front of you," and then she looked towards Wolfsbane, "But I'm sure you know how that is."

The Viking had secured his things to Juniper, and the horse huffed out a great plume of hot breath, anxious to leave the stable. He stroked her black mane affectionately. "Yes, I know how that is. "

Juniper pranced outside of the stable when she was led out, and Snotlout and Adelaide stood beside each other on the road. He looked to her again, where her head only came up to his chest, and he found that his heart began to beat just a bit faster, anticipating what she would say next.

"I think I misunderstood you last night," she said slowly, almost cautiously. "There may have been signs right in front of me all along, and it may not be coincidence alone that we stumbled across each other. You've proven yourself to be a good man, Ralof, and I'd like to take you up on your offer. If you'll let me."

Snotlout furrowed his brow. He didn't exactly understand her… no more than a coincidence, and signs? Though she flicked her eyes up to him again in question, he found it near impossible to read her passive face. And yet, something in her words made indescribable sense to him. He had a fleeting thought - maybe the Gods did put them in the same tavern last night, for some cosmic reason he could not understand.

After what felt like minutes, he found himself nodding to her. He offered a hand to help her onto the horse. "I'll let you."

Adelaide's lips turned up at the gesture - he would soon find out just how rare her smiles were - and she raised a hand to point into the horizon once in the saddle. "The innkeeper pointed in this direction, where we'll find a mountain that's on the map."

 

So they set off.

Snotlout looked up to where the road was taking them. The mountains were high and rugged about them, their peaks clouded in dense swirling snow, and the horizon was a bleak wall of gray. He had no idea how long the journey would last, and the hard land loomed about them. He had a stomach of lead, yet an elation in his chest - for the first time, he had a destination.

It was strange to have a travel companion… Snotlout had been on his own for years and years, and had become quite used to the solitary life. Though they spoke very little, he was very aware of Adelaide's presence as she rode Juniper at his side. Initially he thought the lack of speaking may have been awkward, but whenever he stole a glance in her direction, Adelaide just stared forward in what appeared to be deep thought. The weather alone did not permit much conversation either - though the grey clouds and its snow lightened, a rather harsh wind began to sweep through so that they tucked their faces down. Snotlout gave Adelaide his rather worn travel cloak and she was bundled up so only her eyes and nose were exposed, and he was quite content in the cold, though his leg injury throbbed with each step.

They travelled the main road for the majority of the day, and when the sun began to set they moved off into the woods to make camp. The wind had lessened and Snotlout caught a glimpse of her staring off at the darkening sky, seemingly scanning the stars before bending to start a fire. It was odd enough to have a companion after so many years, and though he tried hard not to acknowledge it, the fact she was the opposite sex made him especially self-conscious.

He was approaching the age of thirty years and had yet to know a woman. It was just another failure of many to add to his list - and it was deeply humiliating. When he was younger it was such a large matter to him, and now the largest matter to him was simply ignoring  _why_ that might be. Years ago, there was a time when he found the answer.

 

He was travelling on the road that day, riding on Juniper when she was still fresh and easily spooked, the path muddy and thick from a torrential rain. A river flowed alongside the trail, swollen from the rains and burbling loudly. There was a sudden movement - a rabbit, or some small animal, darting out from a bush - and Juniper reared on to her legs with a frightened whinny. Snotlout was just as surprised and his grip failed, falling straight back into the mud, his landing softened by the layer of sludge. It took much effort to pry himself out, and he had groaned to see thick mud covering all of his armor and seeping through the cracks into the mail and clothes beneath.

Snotlout looked to either side of him. Not a soul could be seen on the road, and it was miles ago he last crossed paths with another. "This is your fault," he murmured to Juniper as he began taking the armor off. She blinked her big eyes at him, having calmed down and just dipped her long neck to drink from the river.

He stood in the rushing water stripped down to his leggings, sulking as he cleaned the mud from each piece of steel and his mail, unable to hear the sound of hooves approaching over the rushing water. Suddenly, he was aware of others. He automatically jerked, turning his body so that his brand could not be seen, and then immediately flushed at the new arrivals.

Walking leisurely on the path was a band of people - everything about them screamed 'nobles'. A man in intricate and rather impractical armor carried a large and colorful banner at the lead, and the company consisted of armed men on foot and women on horseback. The women were all beautiful with elaborate hair and expensive gowns, even their white horses were pristine with shining coats. He grew scarlet to see them looking at him, half-naked in the river, and the younger women were trying to hide their mouths as they giggled and snickered.

"Do you need assistance?" the eldest woman called out, laughter in her eyes.

Snotlout wanted more than anything to disappear. "No. I'm fine."

She looked to his belongings laid at the riverside. "And what do you do, with such a fine suit of armor and worn weapon? Are you a mercenary?"

The guards accompanying the women were giving him hard looks, and he kept his left side turned away as best he could. "A sellsword."

"Ah," the woman said. "I may have a job for you, then. At the next village, come to the inn and I can give you a handsome amount of coin for your services."

He just gave a nod, confused, while the girls giggled at some unsaid joke, and the company moved on as she called back behind her, "Good luck!"

It took quite some time to clean the rest of his things and even longer for them to partially dry. Snotlout mounted Juniper once more and was sure to keep an eye out for any other sudden surprises. They trotted down the path, and soon the town came into sight. The Viking paused, taking in rows of wooden buildings and caught sight of the inn. It had been some time since he was hired. Though the woman was not one of the usual types to seek the services a sellsword, he supposed it could not hurt.

Inside the tavern, patrons were merry and loud as they drank pints of cold beer and a drummer hammered away. As usual, he received several odd glances as he stepped inside, and soon his eyes fell on a man he recognized - the one who carried the banner in the procession. He was sat beside a stairway as he drank a pint, and Snotlout approached. "I was told that I'd be given work?"

The person before him rolled his eyes and gestured behind him to the stairs. Snotlout was unsure of what to make of the situation but stepped past nonetheless. The stairs took him to a single room with a slightly ajar door, and he knocked lightly.

"Come in."

He stepped inside. It was a large room with a massive bed and it's own tub, the likes that he could never afford. The woman who spoke to him earlier was perched at a desk, pulling pins from her head so her platinum hair fell past her shoulders. She gave him a smile. "So you decided to come. Close the door, will you?"

Very aware of the fact that the two were all alone, Snotlout nodded and swallowed. "You said you had work for me."

Now closer to the woman, he could see she was just a bit older with creases at her lips and eyes, and she was striking in her middle-age. She rose from her chair with a smile. "Where are you from? You do not look like many others around here. Your body type is… interesting."

He felt himself growing hot and cleared his throat. He gave the usual answer: "From the east. So w-what kind of work is it you're looking for?"

"I see, you're to the point," she said with a laugh and did what Snotlout least expected. She raised a hand to pull at her dress, exposing her chest to him. His jaw dropped, and he found himself frozen in place, openly staring. "I'd like you to do for me what my husband can't."

He could not form words. Was this really happening?

She crossed over to him, her movements cat-like. He did not dare move as his brain tried to process what was happening before him. She reached down to grab him with lustrous eyes, and he took in a breath.

_Are you enjoying it, love?_

He was back in the guard's chambers on the beach, and one of the men purred into his ear, and he felt his calloused hand and Snotlout suddenly jerked with a shout " _NO!"_ , shoving, eyes screwed shut.

He heard a surprised yelp from a woman and opened his eyes - no, he was not back in the guard chambers, he was here in the tavern.

Snotlout realized what he had done and could still feel invisible hands all over him. "I-I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The woman did not hit the floor, but braced herself against the bed frame and she looked on him with disbelief and let out a taunting laugh. "What? Do you favor men?"

He was already out of the room, feet pounding down the stairs. His stomach rose and he raised a hand to his mouth on the verge of being sick. Eyes followed him as he rushed past the tavern patrons and into the street. His stomach attempted to eject its contents, and he found himself doubled over on the side of the road, dry-heaving. His breath came out in pants and everything spun around him as he still felt invisible hands grasp at him - he was suffocating. He was aware of people looking upon him in interest, yet no one stopped. He was glad of it. Several minutes passed until he dared to straighten up, wiping his eyes as he struggled to calm his breath.

What was  _wrong_  with him?

Snotlout was certain that he was at the beach again, in the guards chambers. He  _heard_  it and  _felt_ it. But it was impossible. He should have been ecstatic… a woman actually wanted him, a moment that should have been so significant. But rather than feeling her touch, all he felt was twisted insides and spinning vision as he made his way to his horse to leave town. He was broken. Snotlout's hands were shaking as he led Juniper into the street. He could not seem to escape it. Even hundreds of leagues away, on the opposite side of the continent, he realized he never truly left the Guard's Chambers.

 

He tried hard to banish the memory of his failure with the woman, sure that Adelaide knew. It was not as if he was interested in her at all in that matter - he learned long ago that it was useless to let him think such things about women - he was far too broken... but it did not make things any of it less humiliating.

The Viking and Healer finished setting up their camp in silence, and Snotlout kept his eyes averted with a knot in his belly, trying hard to forget his failures. It was a bit too early for bed, and they both sat near the licking fire. Their eyes met, and he was reminded of Gothi and her penetrating, all-knowing stare. Though Adelaide might have only been idly gazing, there was something about those pale green eyes and contemplative look that was a bit unsettling. He had heard the stories of witch healers before, and always thought they were only that - stories. But alone under a dark winter sky, even he could not help but let his imagination wander.

"At the inn, last night," he said, "What the innkeeper called you-"

"A witch?" she finished for him, rolling her eyes, but a bitter laugh accompanied it.

"Right," he answered.

"You're asking if it's true, I suppose?" she asked and before he could respond, went on, "Well, if you're one of the types of men who think any free-thinking woman is a witch, then yes."

He did not have a ready reply. "But, I don't really take you for that type," she went on, "And I tend to be right about those types of impressions."

"But you are a healer?"

She nodded in response. Snotlout frowned, beginning to realize it was silly of him to even entertain the idea of her being supernatural. "Why is it that people are so afraid of you?"

She seemed to think hard on that and her face darkened a bit. "Because men are afraid of things they don't understand."

"But if you're a healer, you help people and save lives. Why be afraid of it?"

"Yes, I help people. But to many, there must be some motive to choose such a solitary life rather than submit to a husband. We're cast out and forced to live on the fringe of society. And because of that, the same men who threw us out think we're wild and can't be trusted, just continuing the cycle of fear. Women who aren't under the rule of men are terrifying to them… so they come up with ridiculous excuses to explain it."

Snotlout stared into the dancing flames of their fire, processing her words. "So, why would you even want to do it? Why do you help people if you don't get anything in return?"

"It was not so much I chose to do it, the path chose me," she replied. "And it is not entirely unrewarding. If someone is able to give me something in return, I'll take what they can spare. And while many would like to interpret that as I take  _souls_  or something ridiculous," and she scoffed, "it's usually a few gold coins or meal, or even this map to Berk."

And she reached a hand down and touched the satchel at her side. He had been insanely curious to know how she came upon it, and attempted to be nonchalant in his question. "And how did that happen?"

"A woman stumbled upon me," Adelaide said, "she was with child and running from the Eastern shore. She was a very long way from home and needed attention, and I did what I could. She did not have much to spare, but gave me this map and told me an unbelievable story about it."

Snotlout swallowed. "What did she say?"

"She told me a story, where one day Vikings atop dragons flew in from across the ocean."

He felt an odd sensation, of goosebumps spreading across his skin and his head became light. Adelaide went on. "Supposedly. The way she told it only a few people witnessed it. Many from her village believed it was just a tall tale, but she said that others would swear on their lives it actually happened."

"So if you have the map… why are you going there?"

"This woman also told me the riders had a message. They were in need of a Healer. And they gave maps for those brave enough to believe, and I managed to come across one because of her."

His thoughts were racing. He had never expected to hear of men riding dragons in his life ever again. She may even be talking of the Chief of Berk and Toothless themselves… have they been to this continent before? And why in Midgard would they be asking about needing a Healer? He almost wanted to think that it was all just talk, just some village making up stories, but the piece of parchment she carried with the Norse handwriting confirmed that it was all true.

"Did this woman say why they needed a healer?"

"No," Adelaide said, "But I know it's true. I know I have to go there."

She sounded so resolute, so firm in her decision. He no longer asked any questions, just thinking hard on what he was told and the night continued on in silence.

Snotlout had changed entirely in the past nine years. He had a new life, whether it was wanted or not. And it seemed that Berk had changed quite a bit as well. He could not even fathom the idea of Vikings travelling across an ocean to a strange land in search of a Healer… he would have been absolutely certain that they would stick to one of their own, not give out maps that disclosed their precious whereabouts. And this information made him question everything. Were dragon riders coming to this continent all along? A mixture of emotion bubbled within him. Here he had been, where dragon riders may have been visiting all this time… aware that he could have been lost and wandering in it's land, forgotten.

 

The first days of travel were quite uneventful.

For a few hours on the second day, the skies cleared and they could in fact see the white peak of a jagged mountain on the horizon - so they were on the right path. However, it sat several leagues away, and it was then Snotlout realized just how far they would have to go. Adelaide had passed the map on to him - "I have not travelled much before," she said as she placed the rolled parchment into his hands, "I think you're more suited to guide the way."

At night when he would take his watch, he often found himself looking on it, transfixed as his thoughts churned. Adelaide would take her watch as well, and though he initially was apprehensive to have someone around him in the vulnerable state of sleeping, he soon found himself getting the best rest he had in ages. In his youth, Snotlout was a heavy sleeper, but he had grown to wake at the slightest sound since being on his own. In this place, the anxiety of waking up to dagger being thrust in his skull made sleep near impossible and he was constantly restless and exhausted… but with two to keep watch, this improved drastically.

On the fourth night of their travels, he felt hands shake him awake and he bolted upright drenched in sweat and panting, though the air was freezing around him. He immediately reached for his sword with wide eyes. "What! What is it?"

Adelaide kneeled before him, and her expression was strange. "You were having a nightmare. You were shouting in your sleep."

He relaxed his grip on Wolfsbane. Adelaide returned to sit by the fire and said no more. Though his pounding heart was quieting, Snotlout could not remember what it was he had dreamt of, and felt terribly naked. Whatever it was he had said in his sleep, it had turned Adelaide's face dark and she gazed unblinking into the fire. They did not speak much the next morning.

When midday arrived, and they walked through a dense wood carpeted with snow, she finally spoke. Adelaide was on foot as well and held Juniper's reins - the two had taken quite a liking to each other. Juniper even made it a point to nuzzle the crook of her neck every so often, as if to check in occasionally. "It's a shame that your first reflex on waking is to grab a weapon."

Snotlout walked on the other side of Juniper. "I didn't realize."

Adelaide furrowed her eyebrows. "But I can't say I blame you. If you're a sellsword, you've probably grown accustomed to bloodshed."

"It's an occupational hazard," Snotlout said matter-of-factly.

"But it should not even need to be an occupation to begin with," she spoke almost as if to herself, "I suppose I can't blame you… but we should not live in a world where battle and war is so celebrated and accepted that sellswords have to exist."

Snotlout was faintly reminded of Fishlegs by her words. This was a worldview that the Ingerman brought up many times, and it was still a concept quite foreign to him. "But it's just the way things are. There's nothing to be done about it."

"Violence and battle is glorified," Adelaide said, "And as long as kills bring prestige, people will continue to murder with no second thought to life."

Of course battle was glorified, Snotlout thought. The way of the warrior brought glory - what was hard to understand about that? "It's just the way it is. It is either kill or be killed."

"And how many people have you killed, Ralof? All so you can be paid?"

Snotlout did not know where to begin discerning the number. "I… I don't know."

"See," she said with a hint of disappointment.

Snotlout furrowed his brow, his integrity under attack. He was a  _warrior,_  using his strengths against those who did  _not_ value honor and glory. "I protect myself and the people who need it. If I can make some gold doing what I'm good at, it doesn't make me any different than anyone else making a living..."

"I suppose that's the logic of robbers and bandits as well."

"I'm not the same as them, it's different," Snotlout said quietly, wringing a scarred wrist with his hand.

Adelaide stopped beside a tree stump. She used it to mount Juniper, and the two failed to see the horse flare her nostrils at a scent. "I am not trying to argue with  _what_  you do. I just think it's ridiculous that it is  _necessary_. There should not be so much value put into battle and-"

"You there!"

They did not even notice the two men slinking towards them through the thicket. Adelaide visibly jumped in her saddle and Juniper spooked, whinnying. Snotlout - as if further proving Adelaide's point - put his hand to the dagger at his side as he turned to the two newcomers. They stood a dozen feet away and were donned in a light hide armor that had allowed them to move through the woods so silently. Hoods covered much of their facial features in shadow, and they each had a long and jagged knife in hand.

Snotlout stood his ground, taking them in while Juniper anxiously paced beside him. These did not appear to be the standard, unskilled bandits he was accustomed to. His face hidden in the shadow of his hood, one man gestured to them with a sweep of his dagger. "We do not mean you trouble. Hand over all of your valuables and you can go on your way."

"We don't have anything of value," Snotlout replied, his voice steady.

One of the two thieves motioned towards the roll of parchment he had secured around the belt of his armor. "What's that? A treasure map?"

"None of your concern," the Viking answered.

"You there, on the horse," the other called out, "Hand over your satchel."

Adelaide hugged her bag close and said nothing.

The two approached. "We don't want to kill you... unless you leave us no choice. Just give up your belongings."

Snotlout kept his eyes on the two thieves and drew Wolfsbane. "Get out of here, Adelaide."

The healer held the reins tightly, but he could see her knuckles were white. "I'll stay with you."

"No," his voice was firm. "They mean what they say."

"Ralof, I'm staying-"

But he slapped Juniper across the rear hard, sending the horse flying into the woods along with her rider. At once, the thieves ran towards him. The steel of Wolfsbane met their knives with a metallic ring.

The two thieves had to be professionals. They were incredibly fast in their light armor, out maneuvering Snotlout with ease and they worked as a team, their attacks well coordinated. Just as he would parry one knife, another would come in and he barely had time to deflect the attack. At first what he saw as a challenge became a battle for his life as the two literally ran circles around him. It did not help him at all that trees in the wood grew close together, and he could not even complete a full swing of his greatsword without clipping their limbs.

He broke a sweat as the battle continued, the clang of meeting weapons echoing in the forest. He could not let them take the map to Berk.

Snotlout barely caught a knife that was thrust towards a crack in his armor about the neck, using the protection of his gauntlets to actually grab the blade and toss it. To his dismay, the man's partner actually reached and drew  _his own_  dagger from Snotlout's side and tossed it to his friend. They were using his size against him. He could not help but feel impressed with the two as they moved through the trees… they were the most skilled fighters he had met in this place.

But he was still a Viking - he was the superior swordsman and could not be bested. He caught an opening at long last. Snotlout parted his feet wide, swinging Wolfsbane behind his back into a sweeping slice that would behead his opponent… and his left leg buckled, the stubborn old wound in his leg tearing open from the stretched stance. Snotlout fell to his knee with a pained grunt, his attack interrupted. He just had time to look up and see the thief ready to plunge his knife downwards, and the only choice left was to raise an arm above his head, a meager attempt to protect himself.

He never felt the blade sink in, and hooves rumbled the ground about him. Adelaide had returned on horseback, and she rode the thief down from atop Juniper, throwing him aside easily. Snotlout immediately took action - though he could not put much weight on his foot, he managed to launch himself towards the second attacker. The two rolled about on the hard and snow powdered ground. The man tried to slice with his knife, but Snotlout grabbed his wrist and twisted the blade from his hand. Rolling so that the Viking pinned his attacker down with his weight, he raised the knife high.

It was then he heard a shout from Adelaide.

He snapped his gaze over to her, where the man she rode down was clawing at her legs in the stirrup, trying to hoist himself up to her despite his broken bones. He tried once, twice, to sink his dagger into her leg but missed as she struggled. Juniper even snapped her flat but strong teeth at him, dragging him this way and that. He pulled himself up with a final show of strength and drew his weapon back to stab Adelaide right in the belly - but Snotlout reacted faster. He hurled the blade in his hand hard, and it sunk into the man's back. There was a grunt, a sound accompanied by a splatter of blood from the mouth, and the attacker dropped to the ground.

"You - you -"

The thief still pinned beneath Snotlout stuttered, eyes filled with malice, but a swift punch to the jaw knocked him out. Snotlout was breathing heavily, his breath clouds of steam. The forest no longer echoed with the sounds of battle, and as if it never happened, the sounds of birds chirping slowly returned to the woods. Were it not for the two lifeless forms sprawled about the snowy forest floor, it could have been peaceful.

"Ralof?" Adelaide asked after several moments, petting Juniper's mane to calm her from the stench of blood, though the woman was just as shaken.

Snotlout was trying to steady himself. In all of his years in this land, he was truly tested on his battle skills today. Without saying a word, he mentally congratulated the unconscious man beneath him for his skill, and went to stand. His knee buckled again, the old wound hissing and Snotlout cried out, catching himself before he fell to the ground.

"You're hurt," Adelaide said with concern.

Snotlout limped over, his left knee sending shooting pains to his head with every step. He gritted his teeth, "No, I'm fine."

She dismounted Juniper and strode over, eyes searching for a wound. "What did they do?"

He absolutely despised showing signs of weakness, and his face reddened as he hobbled to a fallen tree and sat on it to take weight off of his leg. "It's nothing. It's an old cut from weeks ago, I just stepped wrong and-"

"What?" Adelaide snapped and she looked at him urgently. "Show me."

"It's nothing..." he began again.

"You said weeks? Show me now," and she spoke with an authority that he had yet to see from her. He self-consciously rested a hand on the armor above the wound, and she looked to it. "Take it off."

"What?"

"Your armor, it's coming off," and it was an order. "Or would you rather lose a leg from infection?"

Snotlout was turning all sorts of shades of red. He most certainly did not want to lose a leg… but he was sure he only had a stubborn wound. Reluctantly, and muttering under his breath, he began the process of removing the armor from his leg. When the steel was cast aside, he peeled up his leggings and winced as his fingers grazed the sensitive flesh near the old stab wound. Even he knew it looked unsightly… he had expected it to be bleeding, but the skin was yellow-red and swollen about the puncture mark, the wound itself raised and draining fluid.

Adelaide moved close to him. She went down to look, and he jerked away from her touch. She held her hands over the cut, palms and fingers splayed wide as if to sign she meant no harm. "I need to look. Will you let me?"

Snotlout was exposed, and he was vulnerable. She could not see him like this… he could not let anyone see how  _broken_  he was. So he closed his eyes hard and made his hands into fists - he did not want to accidentally strike out - and he held his breath. "It's fine."

Delicate, precise fingers touched him and he winced and sucked in a breath. It hurt. And his mind went to places he did not want to be… but as soon as it started, it was over.

"We need to set camp."

 

They did not continue for several days.

Far from where they were attacked, the two set their camp up. Snotlout felt awkward the whole way there, for Adelaide insisted that he ride on horseback and she would walk, unable to take 'no' for an answer. The Healer immediately sat herself down when everything was set, spreading the contents of her satchel before her on the ground. Snotlout was interested at the array of things laid about - little pieces of cloths containing all sorts of dried herbs and plants and fungi, several small glass bottles wrapped in pieces of hide, and even a mortar and pestle. When Adelaide went off to look for water, he insisted that she not go alone, but she was off before he could limp after her.

The healing process was intricate and tedious. She cleaned the wound with steaming hot water from their kettle. One night she wanted the injury left open to the cold winter air, sometimes under a poultice that smelled of grass and onion and garlic with a linen wrapped about it. She made all sorts of tinctures and teas, never saying aloud what she was doing. And all the while, Snotlout insisted that he would be just fine.

On the fourth night, under a clear and cold sky, she poured him a cup of fragrant steaming water into his travel tankard. Snotlout's wound was no longer swollen at this point and was closing. He was ready to be on the way - it was not safe to sit still for long periods of time.

He raised the mug to his lips and faltered. Adelaide had been giving him drinks and poultices that were quite heavy on garlic and onion smells and tastes, but this was amazing… the smell of spring flowers and honey met him. "What does this one do?"

Adelaide poured herself some tea as well and sat back. "This one is for taste. I've done all I could to help your leg heal. You're going to be fine."

They had not spoken more than necessities over the past several days. Adelaide was intent upon her work, and Snotlout did not offer much in the way of conversation. The two sipped at their tea silently, looking into the licking fire before them. Though the night was chilly, Snotlout felt a warmth spread through him with his hot drink. They would be on the road tomorrow - Adelaide declared that he was fit to move again.

Though she did not speak much when she worked, Adelaide made it quite clear that he was a fool to let his wound go untreated as long as he did, and that he may have lost a leg if the issue was not addressed. In his youth he always thought that having a hook for a hand or a stump for a leg was an indicator of seasoned warrior, an image that brought prestige - but with the possibility of losing a limb right before him, he did not feel the same way. Snotlout thought hard on the battle with the two thieves as he quietly sipped his drink… had Adelaide not returned with his horse, things could have ended very badly for him.

He saw her stir out of the corner of his eye, and she cleared her throat. "Ralof," she began, as if reading his very thoughts, "I never said thank you. If you weren't there to fight those thieves…"

Snotlout furrowed his brow. "I don't think I'm the one who should be thanked."

She looked at him over the fire. "I've told you before, but I don't believe much in coincidences. For those men to appear as we were talking… after I made some unsavory comments about what you do for a living… I think I owe you an apology. Again."

Snotlout awkwardly looked down at his steaming cup of tea. "It's nothing to worry about."

"And I've been thinking," she went on, "that maybe there's something to be learned from this. It's only going to get worse as we go on. Unless we go around it and add weeks onto the journey, we need to go straight through Wildergreen Hold."

Snotlout's heart sank into his stomach.

"And… I know what I said before, but I don't want to be useless again," Adelaide said. "As much as I do not want it to be, this is just the way things are… and I want to do what I can to help while it is. I want you to teach me to fight."

"You weren't useless," Snotlout said quietly, "If you didn't come back, I would be dead."

"And if you weren't with me," she answered, "I would be, too."

Then she rose and went over to the tent to ready herself for sleep, and he took first watch.

When she had settled herself into the tent, Snotlout immediately pulled the map from his side and rolled it open on the ground before him. His finger found the port that would take them to Berk and moved along the map. He let it rest on a scrawled out word that he was unable to read - despite years passing, Snotlout never cared to try and learn to read the written word in this land. But now he was sure of what it said now - Wildergreen Hold.

It was a lawless Hold where the guardsmen paid no attention to crime… and the slave trade was thriving there. Gunnar and Gertrude, years ago, had explained to him that it would not be wise for him to ever pass through the Hold, were he ever to be recognized as an outsider. His eyes wandered over the parchment, and he realized that Adelaide was right… any other way would add weeks if not months to the journey, and surely the neighboring lands were just as corrupt. It could not be avoided.

He rolled the parchment back up and secured it to his belt, anxiously rubbing at his chin. "Fuck."

 

Weeks went by.

The pair and their horse moved on in content silence. Winter was coming to an end. Though the air was dry and chilled, the sun beat down during the early day hours and snowfall turned to light drizzling rain midday. The earliest buds of the season dripped morning dew from once skeletal tree limbs, hints of color now resting at their fingertips.

Snotlout was learning more about his travel companion. She constantly kept her gaze to the ground, always picking flowers and gathering plants to put in her satchel and would often see something in the forests and go foraging. She would take these things and dry them at night by the fire, and she seemed to always have some sort of tea or elixir for any small ailment.

One day when the sun was high they moved on to the main road, and it was there they passed a travelling merchant. It was an elderly man atop a loaded horse-drawn cart, and Snotlout waved the man down. Looking over the wares, Adelaide went over the food items for the two, and the Viking inspected weaponry. He caught sight of a short and stout bow and lifted it. It was much lighter than the hunting bow that he had used with Gunnar and Gertude, and he gave the string an experimental twang.

"And what is that for?" Adelaide asked as she approached carrying bread and winter squash in her arms.

"You said you wanted to learn to fight," he answered and also took up a quiver of arrows on the cart. "I think this is how you'll learn."

That night, after one of the more satisfying meals they had, Snotlout taught her the bow by fire light. He had placed pine cones on a log just a distance away and demonstrated how to notch the arrow. He pulled the string back, his arms and hands steady, and the arrow whistled through the air, nicking one of the pinecones so that it fell. Even he smiled a bit - after all these years, he hadn't lost his touch.

Adelaide watched this intently. "I've never used one before."

The bow was placed in her hand, and Snotlout offered an arrow to her. "It's not so bad. Here, notch it like this…"

And he showed her how to draw the bow back, pulling so that the knuckle of her middle finger rested against her cheek. The point of the arrow wavered as her arm shook under the tension, and the arrow flew into the forest, far from its mark. Adelaide frowned as she lowered the weapon. "You make it look easy."

Snotlout just grabbed another arrow. "You'll learn. You'll get stronger the more you practice."

She tried again, and the entire bow wobbled as she tried hard to stay in control. Snotlout moved closer behind her, grasping her bow hand so that the weapon steadied. "See. Don't let it intimidate you."

He then became well aware of how close the two were, with her back grazing his chest, and he found that her hair smelled like the spices she put in her tea. Snotlout took an immediate step back, his stomach flipping from the contact. He mentally cursed himself - why couldn't he just be  _normal_. The whistling of a flying arrow brought him back to reality, and he saw the point embed itself in a tree trunk - far from the pinecones he had set up, but at least they did not lose this one.

"Damn," he heard Adelaide say under her breath. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"It's not easy," he said and went to retrieve the arrows, "The way I was raised, we used the mace and sword, and I thought the bow was hard, too"

"And where was it you were raised, Ralof?" Adelaide asked, her voice nonchalant, but he could detect suspicion in the question.

He tried to keep his face passive as he gathered the arrows and gave his usual response. "The East."

"Hmm," was the only response, as if she was thinking to herself. "If you'd like to get some sleep, I'll take first watch and practice some more. If it won't keep you awake."

He fell easily into sleep.

* * *

 **A/N.** Hello! Snotlout is on his way to Berk! It's about time, right? I know I keep saying this story is moving slowly, but as I am posting this I am about 80 pages ahead of posting this, several chapters away and writing some exciting parts to this story and it's a ton of fun to write. Also, I remembered that I posted a sketch to my Deviantart account quite a while ago of some concept art regarding Snotlout's armor. Here is the link if anyone is interested lwall19/art/Steel-and-Spice-799620109  
One can also look at my subpar art there, but the account is pretty much dead at this point. Thank you for reading, thank you much! _\- Rummybones_


	10. Chapter Ten

 

**Chapter Ten.**

 

Snotlout and Juniper stood beneath the protective shadow of the wood, the road just within sight.

He used a jagged piece of bark as a make-shift brush, running the points through Juniper's coat as he kept watch of the road. Her thick winter pelt was shedding and he sloughed off fist-sized tufts of fur, and the horse seemed to be in a content trance, quite unlike her owner. They were in Wildergreen Hold, and he was more than cautious of his surroundings in this dangerous place. He perked at the sounds of crunching wheels on stone and men's murmuring voices, and gently pulled Juniper's reins so that they stood just behind the limbs of a budding tree.

He surveyed a horse-drawn cart as it slowly passed by on the road, and his eyes narrowed at what he saw. Men on horseback led the way, and an archer atop his steed brought up the back. Assembled within the cart, all with dreary and sallow faces, were men and women in worn clothes. Had the guardsmen stolen a glance into the wood beside them, they might have caught a glimpse of the Viking. He waited quietly until the cart of slaves was out of sight and it was then he realized he was holding his breath. Snotlout scanned the wilderness about him.  _Where in Midgard was she?_

Adelaide had gone off - again - upon catching sight of some sort of plant or mineral or whatever it might be that caught her interest, and the last thing he heard was a shout from her, "I'm going further in, keep watch!"

That could have been fifteen minutes ago.

It was a habit of the Healer that certainly made him uneasy, but he could not say that her little expeditions were completely unwelcome. She would return with the sorts of things she used in her healing arts, but oftentimes returned with lunch or breakfast. Since he started the road to Berk, he did not work, and neither did his travel companion. Close to all of his gold was spent, and as their purses grew small so did their waists. The land brought the two a meager amount of food with the changing of seasons, and without that they may have been forced to stall and find a way to afford their meals.

It was because of this he could not be too frustrated with Adelaide and her sudden escapades into the forest. She had an eye for all flora native to the land to keep them fed, and he might have accidentally poisoned himself trying to forage - he was never very good at his plant identification. His empty stomach growled. His last meal was yesterday morning - and all they had were wild mushrooms and bland root vegetables that he could not identify, all picked by Adelaide and seasoned with the paltry amount of salt they had left.

Nonetheless, he felt the familiar hollow sensation of starvation just as he did as a slave, and though she did not complain much, Adelaide's already lithe figure narrowed as the days went by.

A twig snapped just behind him, and Snotlout whirled to greet the sound. Before him, Adelaide approached. He released the hilt of his dagger in relief. "You were gone too long," was all he said.

Though close to two months had passed, the two still kept their conversations minimal. And yet, it did not feel strange to the Viking any longer - there was a slight comfort in their easy silence. She approached and put her hands on Juniper's snout, stroking the horse. "I got distracted. I found something."

The two of them had been so strained as of late… travelling through Wildergreen Hold had them mentally stretched - it was a Hold known for it's abundance of the slave trade, murder and thievery, and dislike of outsiders. They were both stressed and fatigued beyond belief, let alone on the verge of starvation, yet there was something close to a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and produced something small and shining, lifting it to the light between her thumb and middle finger. "Do you know what it is?"

Snotlout did not need to look twice. "A dragon scale."

It was the size of a river stone, thin and curved, its color an earthy green. She offered it to him, and it was as if a small treasure rested within the palm of his hand. Often times, it felt as if dragons were only a dream of long past. Aside from his beach side encounters with the creatures years and years ago, he had yet to see another of their kind.

"Do you know what this means?"

Snotlout pushed himself out of his memories, offering the scale back to Adelaide. It was as if a small piece of nostalgia was taken from him, and he was back in Wildergreen Hold, only a target passing through hostile territory. "What?"

"A dragon scale is worth hundreds of gold coins," she said, "Let's look at the map."

And so they crouched on the forest floor to look on the map that Adelaide had first shown him close to two months ago. Adelaide gestured to the markings about the map as she spoke, "The port is here. There are not any villages marked along the way aside from the City. If we wanted to trade, this will be the only place to do so that doesn't add weeks to the journey."

Snotlout instantly shook his head 'no'. "It's too dangerous."

He had yet to go within City walls. He saw them in the landscape several times in the past - giant castles with high walls, with rooftop on rooftop like waves in an ocean about the castle's feet, but never did he enter their gates. Snotlout always made it a point to avoid large gatherings of people. He was still a Viking. No matter how well he assimilated into the local culture, hid his accent and dismissed his size, it was still too risky. And even though his companion knew nothing of where he came from and how valuable he may be to a rich slave-owner, she also understood the risks. Her kind was not welcome in such places, and no one would miss her or come to her aid if she were to be taken.

"It is dangerous," Adelaide said, "But we may not see another village for leagues. Let alone one that has the kind of store that can buy a dragon scale."

He looked on the little piece of shed scale in her hand and something within him ached. It was almost ironic - in his youth, Snotlout would scold Hookfang over all of the reddish scales he would leave about the Jorgenson home after grooming, but now the little piece of hide seemed a priceless treasure.

As if reading his thoughts, Adelaide curled her fingers around the scale and looked at it thoughtfully. "I would like to keep this and not trade anything so rare just for gold. I know it's dangerous to go to the City, but look at us, Ralof."

He did not need to meet her gaze to know what she spoke of. They were miserable. Starving and exhausted, they both had circles under their eyes and were weak from hunger.

"We can eat a full meal," she said, "And the next day, too. Juniper can be stabled, brushed and fed well. Your sword can be sharpened, and I can get boots that don't have holes in them. And we will still have more than enough gold left over to supply us for the rest of the journey."

Snotlout's eyes tore over the map before him. Adelaide was right… aside from the City, the map did not indicate any other towns for miles upon miles. And at the mention of a full meal, his stomach growled enough for it to hurt. He bit his lip in thought. It was risky. He flicked a glance to Adelaide at his side, and he saw that her cheek bones had become more prominent as she lost weight in her face as well.

It was not worth it - he was not going to let her starve along with him, not over his fear of being taken into the slave trade once more.

"It seems we don't have much of a choice," he muttered and straightened, turning his head in the direction of where the city lay. It was a risk he would have to take.

 

The mountains were at their back, and their tall peaks in the distance made a crescent around the plains that they travelled into. It was here the grass grew tall on either side of the road, reaching Snotlout's waist, and when the wind blew it was as if a sea of warm green rippled and swayed about them. Snotlout and Adelaide could see the city approaching: a magnificent castle resting atop the highest hill of the plains. It seemed to receive special attention from the sun, warm sandstone walls glowing, tall and impenetrable. Thick walls stretched about its feet, and he could see tilled farmlands outside of the city walls like tiles of cloth in a blanket. The traffic of the road grew as they approached the massive city - traders bustled past with loaded carts, a man herded stocky cows along, and single travelers went on their way. Snotlout had placed his horned helmet upon his head and gazed upon the folk under its shadow. They cast interested looks upon him and Adelaide, but no one stopped to question them.

A cart rolled past them carrying a large cage stuffed full of wide-eyed slaves, and his stomach turned at the sight. There was no going back now. Beside him, he could hear Adelaide hiss in a breath.

The castle grew taller and taller before them, and soon they were craning their necks up at it as they approached the city walls. A stable was beside the large doors leading to the city, and Juniper joined the other dozen horses in their stalls. Tents were erected near this entrance, and people called out to advertise their merchandise or to beg for spare change.

"We can sell the scale to one of these traders," Snotlout offered, but Adelaide shook her head.

"They will not have enough. Or someone will see us make the trade and follow us out. We'll be robbed."

"I won't let them," he said, but they were already at the entrance.

Two guards stood on either side of the closed draw-bridge. They each wore a heavy suit of armor that looked quite cumbersome and royal blue capes flowed at their backs. The spears in their hands were black with dried blood at the tips. "State your business."

"We are here to trade-"

"Let your man speak for you, woman," one of the guards hastily interrupted Adelaide, addressing her with distaste.

"What she told you," Snotlout said evenly. He did not appreciate Adelaide being spoken to in such a way, and judging by her clenched fists, she did not either. "We are here to trade."

"You are outsiders," he stated matter-of-factly. "I can tell you're not one of our own. Where do you come from?"

"We're travelers, we come from the West," Snotlout said, "We're only stopping through on the way to the coast. All we ask for is a bed for the night and to trade some items."

"And you can afford it?" the guard sneered.

Then the other guard, who seemed a bit more reasonable, spoke. "The man is clearly a sellsword, not a foreign peasant. Let him pass."

Snotlout was resisting the urge to raise his voice and was glad that the second man spoke on his behalf. He watched as the first guard frowned. "And what of the woman? What kind of witchcraft do you have in that satchel? Poisons?"

"Herbs," Adelaide answered flatly and showed the contents of her bag to the guards.

The two of them looked skeptically on the dried plants, and she added with an impatient breath, "If you'd like, I will taste each one of these ingredients to prove my point, but I'd rather not waste them."

"No need," the second guard replied curtly and tapped the ground twice with his pike. "Open the gate!"

And the massive gate creaked to life.

The inside of the city was packed full of people.

Snotlout had never seen anything like it. In his time as a dragon rider, the Northern Market was the busiest place he had been, but it was nothing compared to what he experienced now. It was almost suffocating - merchants were shouting, animals drawing carts bleating and whinnying, folk yelling over the noise to make conversation, some of them languages he never heard before. There were people constantly bumping into him and jostling him, and he hated every minute of it. If he was not directly behind Adelaide keeping watch, he might have lost her in the sea of people. She had to stand on her toes to look about, and he barely heard her above the roar of the market saying, "Over there."

They made their way to a store with a colorful sign outside, and it was a relief to go inside and dull the sounds of the loud marketplace. Snotlout surveyed the items hanging on the walls - intricate weapons meant to be gazed upon rather than used, exotic masks and packed bookshelves. He stood behind Adelaide as she produced the dragon scale from her pocket and bartered with the shopkeeper. The man behind the counter was thrilled to see the scale and even tested to see if it was fireproof with a burning candle. Their pockets were full of gold at the end of the exchange, more than enough to afford rooms and provisions for the tail end of the journey.

"Do you know of an inn where we can stay for the night?" Adelaide asked when the trade was complete.

"Oh, yes," the old trader replied, "The Hornet and Helm is a popular choice. The cost of a room will cover the day in the neighboring bath house as well."

So they followed the man's directions to the Hornet and Helm.

As they passed through the City, Snotlout warily eyed the stone walls that encased them. At some points the walls were even taller than the roofs of houses and the sensation of captivity crept over him at this sight. Just as the old man at the shop described, after descending a set of stairs, they stepped into a large courtyard that was much more quiet than the marketplace. "There it is," Adelaide said, and began to make her way over.

The inn was nestled in a cozy corner, just beyond a fountain. Children were playing in its waters, and Snotlout looked up to see steam rising from beyond one of the courtyard buildings - it must have been from the bath house they heard of. One of the luxuries he missed most about Berk was its hot springs. Contrary to popular belief amongst the locals, Vikings took much pride in cleanliness and it was far too long since he had a hot rinse.

Upon checking into the inn, the keeper showed visible apprehension at the two - they were not the usual clientele - but when presented with palms filled with gold, no questions were asked. "Your rooms are at the end of the hall," the man said, "Meals and use of the bath house is included. Dinner will be served at sundown."

Snotlout could have fallen asleep in his bed right then. He was exhausted, and his stomach was aching from hunger. But the sun was still high in the sky and it would be a few hours until the inn provided dinner. He left the comfort of his room, and saw Adelaide's door was ajar. She was sprawled across her bed, and must have immediately fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling in deep slumber. He quietly closed the door and walked out of the inn.

The bath house was not what he was expecting at all. Unlike Berk where you were left to your own devices, this place was busy and had several employees attending it. He was greeted by one who gave him a clean towel, and they offered to clean his clothes during his stay. The air was thick with steam and he found a quiet place in the water away from others on the men's side, being sure to keep his brand hidden with the towel wrapped around him when others were about. The water was so hot it was scalding and turned his skin pink, but Snotlout just sunk in and closed his eyes as if he did not feel a thing.

Despite the comfort of the steaming waters, he had troubled thoughts as he soaked for several hours. As he and Adelaide drew closer and closer to the port that would take them to Berk, it became more real what was happening. It was no longer just an idea of a destination - he was actually going to Berk after all this time.

The very thought of facing Hiccup Haddock and the others was enough to make him want to turn around, but he knew he could not run away from this. He was going to see his mother and father to pay his respects and then be on his way - he clearly was no Berkian anymore. That was made clear when the Dragon Riders never came to his rescue. He remembered the day of his capture as if it just happened - he remembered those stinging words he told Hiccup just before flying out to meet the ships that would capture him. What he told Hiccup was something worthy of exile, and he knew that he would be unwelcome.

But his mother and father deserved to know that he was alive. Perhaps, even after all of these years, Spitelout would even have something to be proud of. Snotlout would not have to say anything of the worst things that happened to him as a slave, but his father would see that he had grown into a competent swordsman and warrior, just as a Jorgenson should. It was the least that he could do.

"Sir, your garments are ready," a voice said that snapped him back to reality.

It was a bathhouse employee offering a bundle of clean clothes to him. Snotlout, not thinking, rose to gather his things and then realized his mistake with sinking dread. The water was just shy of waist-level. The employee flicked his eyes to the scarred emblem at the Viking's hip and then back to Snotlout's face. The interaction was only a few seconds, but it felt as though time creeped - the man did not seem to even acknowledge what he saw aside from giving him a long stare, and then turned to go without another word. Unsettled, Snotlout quickly gathered his things and left the bath house as fast as he could.

 

The inn was festive that night: a barmaid sang a fast song along to a whistling flute, and a drunken bar patron clambered on top of a table to do a sloppy dance, much to the amusement of others. He hopped from one table to another kicking and dancing, making Adelaide spill half of her wine when he reached theirs, but she only laughed. It was the first time Snotlout had seen her truly laugh, and even he was chuckling.

When the innkeeper came and dragged the drunk man back to the ground, he made a show of bowing and the entire bar cheered and clapped. He and Adelaide had eaten their first real meal in weeks, and the two already had several glasses of spiced wine that warmed their blood. Snotlout felt refreshed for a change after visiting the bath house, no longer filthy from being on the road. Adelaide had gone as well, and her clean, shining hair suited her much more than what it had become after weeks of seeing no water. They were both in good spirits for a change, and when they both finished their drinks, Snotlout motioned to the barmaid for another round.

"The wine is going down far too easy tonight. It's going to be a slow start to the day tomorrow," Adelaide said as she accepted a new drink and smiled, "But right now it's hard to care."

"Cheers," Snotlout said and their tankards met with a satisfying clink.

They each took a drink and Adelaide raised an eyebrow at him. "But, did you really think it was necessary to suit up for a night of eating and drinking?"

As always, the Viking was fit in his suit of steel armor and his helmet rested in his lap. He shrugged. "I'm just used to it, I guess."

"Nothing wrong with that, I suppose," Adelaide said, "So, let's take a look at the map and see how long we have to go."

Snotlout stretched the parchment out before them, using empty mugs as weights on the corners. By now, it's edges were tattered and the ink fading. He used a finger to find their location, and then traced it over to where the port sat. "Well. It took two days to travel here from the forest's edge. So, if the terrain remains as flat as it has been, I would say we're a fortnight away."

And at his own words, his heart beat just a little faster.

"Finally," Adelaide breathed with relief. "It felt like we would never make it."

They were silent for a moment. As if remembering something, she reached over and nudged his hand. "Guess what happened two nights ago? While I was on watch."

"What?" Snotlout said. Though she could not see, he became very aware of the white scars on his wrist and pulled his hand away.

"I was practicing the bow, and I finally hit a target."

"Really? That's great!"

Always unpresuming, she smiled into her tankard. "The only thing I could find was a Giant's Palm-"

"A what?"

"A leaf. A big leaf," Adelaide corrected, remembering that her travel partner was not well-versed in plant identification, "It was bigger than my head, and I used your dagger to pin it to the tree."

"My dagger?" he asked, hand going to the weapon that was always sheathed at his side, and she laughed.

"You may have been sleeping," Adelaide said. "And, I was only borrowing it…"

At that moment, a bar patron staggered over to their table and stooped low to look into Snotlout's face. He grimaced at the stench of alcohol and recoiled, but remained seated. "Hey. You," the man slurred. It was an off duty guard, his helmet tucked to his side. "You look like you know your way around a sword. Ever think of joining the Wildergreen army?"

Snotlout flicked a glance to Adelaide, who looked just as unimpressed with this intruder. "No."

"Well, you should," the man continued, completely oblivious, "We need fighters. Don't you know we're on the cusp of war? We need people like you."

"I think I'm okay," Snotlout said, refusing to make eye contact - it would just encourage this person.

It was then Adelaide spoke. "War with who?"

The man looked at her incredulously with his drunken eyes, shocked that a woman was speaking to him in such a manner, but he directed his answer to Snotlout. "The western Holds. They don't want to join the Empire… what, are you two  _stupid_? Do you not know what's happening in the world around you?"

"We just want to be left alone with our drinks."

The drunk man swayed on his feet as he shot them both daggers, and he muttered something under his breath, the word  _Witch_ being heard as she went on his way to annoy someone else. Adelaide rolled her eyes. "That was something."

"Yeah," Snotlout agreed and watched until the man was off bothering someone else. "Do you think he was serious about war?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Did you not see the flyers on the walls?"

Snotlout just blinked at her, and she went on, "They were all over the castle walls. A call to arms. We walked past several, how did you not see?"

And he just shrugged at that. It was likely that he did pass these flyers, but Snotlout never bothered to learn to read the written word in this land. Rather than confess to being illiterate of the language, he only said, "I guess I didn't notice."

It was then he took a sip of his spiced wine and looking above the mouth of his drink, he saw a face within the crowd of the tavern. Eyes met, and he set his cup down calmly, though the room lurched about him. Something did not feel right at all. "Adelaide?"

She also sipped from her drink and her fingers traced the rim. "Yes?"

"Get my things."

Her fingers stopped moving. Though his tone was calm, she detected the urgency behind his words. "What is it?"

Snotlout's voice was even as he kept his gaze on the bath house employee from earlier - the one that saw his brand. "I need my things, can you get them. Please."

She turned her head to follow his gaze, but he stopped her. "Don't look," he said. "I'm going to have to go."

He had felt a bit tipsy before, but it was as if the warmth of the wine was sucked right out of him. His blood ran cold and his mind became clear as he watched five guardsmen enter the tavern, after Adelaide left the table. Just as he feared, the guardsmen gathered around the man he saw earlier - and this person pointed towards him. Though the bar still noisily chattered about him, it felt as though his world went quiet. He was found out.

He watched as quiet words were passed between the men, and one of the guards put his hand to the hilt of his sword as they began making their way over. Snotlout lifted the helmet in his lap and donned it, ready for battle if it came down to it. He became aware of Adelaide returning to the table, and had the thought:  _Gods, will she be drawn into this mess_? Panic was rising within him… there were only five guardsmen at the moment, a number he was sure he could take on alone with confidence, but within the City walls there could be hundreds ready to take the place of the fallen.

"Adelaide, I'm running. Get away while you can."

"I'll go with you," she said, also eyeing the guards as they made their way through the packed room, and he winced at the words. She was going to get hurt if she went with him, and she did not even know why.

It was just as he suspected. A glinting sword was drawn and pointed at him, and bar patrons turned to watch as the guard loudly spoke. "You wear the mark of the Provincial Coast Company. You are wanted for the crime of deserting your Master-"

Snotlout had remained seated as the men approached him, and it wasn't until the sword point was lowered to his face did he finally move. With a sudden burst of speed, he stood and took the table with him, flipping it over on to the guards. "Go!" he shouted to Adelaide, and they were running.

They dashed from the inn and into the City streets, not looking behind them. Adelaide was at his side, and he quickly relieved her of a bag, only taking a moment to grasp her by the shoulders. "If you come with me, you could be in danger. You can get away if you don't follow me!"

And since she had met him, she saw fear in his blue eyes for the first time and faltered upon the sight, but she just nodded with grim resolution. "We need Juniper."

They became aware of the guards bursting from the inn, and Snotlout grabbed her hand and ran for his life. A horn sounded behind them - the guards calling for more men, and city dogs were barking at the commotion. He was running blindly, the castle streets a maze to him, and then he felt Adelaide resist his pull. "This way, Ralof!"

And she pulled him in the right direction. Somewhere amidst the panic, despite the terror that made his mind blank, he was grateful she chose to go with him. They dashed towards the market place, and in the nighttime hours, only stragglers and the homeless were left. He felt an arrow whistle by close to his head and was aware of guards with bows atop the city walls. "The gate," he heard Adelaide gasp.

The massive door was closed and two heavily-armored guardsmen were ready to meet them, brandishing their spears. They faltered at this realization, and there was a loud metallic  _ding_ as an arrow bounced off Snotlout's breastplate. The guardsmen at their backs were gaining on them. Adelaide was practically shaking beside him, and she became aware of Snotlout saying something just under his breath over and over, " _I'm not going back there. I'm not going back there..._ "

It was Adelaide who looked to the archers on the wall and had a thought. "Ralof. The stables. If we can get to the wall…"

She did not need to say more. Snotlout ran forward with a war cry to make a path for them. He cut one man down, a head rolling down the stone stairs as they ascended. An arrow sunk into Adelaide's satchel as he overpowered another and tossed them over the castle side of the wall. It was just as she predicted… the straw roof of the stables was just on the other side. And it was a long jump and a long way down.

"Go," Snotlout hissed, grabbing her waist and helping her make the jump with a toss.

She did not land gracefully, rolling down the incline of the roof as she grasped at the straw. When she hit the ground the wind was knocked out of her, but Adelaide was quick to rise, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She looked over the stalls of restless horses and finally found Juniper, and Adelaide worked quickly with shaking hands. First she removed the bow that had been laying on the back of the saddle and slung it around her shoulder, then worked the straps to attach their bags. When she heard the creaking of the opening gate she worked even harder - the guards were going to follow them out.

It was then Snotlout hit the ground beside her. He did not fall such as she did and landed gracefully on his feet, and his armor was covered in blood that shone black in the moonlight. He urgently moved towards her. "Are we ready?"

Juniper resisted leaving the stable at the smell of blood on Snotlout, but she was coaxed out all too slowly as time seemed to press against them. Snotlout jumped on the horse's back and held out his hand, pulling Adelaide up to sit before him. His arms were on either side of her to hold the reins, and in his fear, he hardly flinched from their touching bodies. Juniper lurched forward just as the gate opened completely, and he looked behind him to see men scrambling to mount a horse. He cursed and kicked Juniper harder, the horse whinnying and her hooves pounded the ground beneath them as her pace picked up. "They're following!"

He jerked the reins so they left the road and were in the tall grass of the plains. He relied on Juniper to see the way, the horse making small jumps over unseen barriers in the grass. Snotlout looked behind them again and saw dark shapes moving on the road, and they were fast. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed, and he watched as the shapes entered the grass as well.

He realized they would not make it. Juniper was over encumbered with two riders and they both carried supplies. Already, he could see his horse's coat gleam with sweat after a few short minutes of sprinting. He heard Adelaide speak, her voice thin in the wind rushing past them. "Cut the bags."

So he freed a hand and using his knife, cut the straps that held their bags. First his bundle of furs fell with his camping supplies, and Juniper still struggled to maintain her pace. He cut another - there was an audible thud as it hit the ground - there went their gold. They leapt out from where the grass grew tall and Juniper raced towards the tree line in the distance. Next, Snotlout cut his tent. He could feel Juniper's pace lighten, but he could also make out the sounds of whinnying and men shouting behind them.

He allowed to steal himself a look behind them once more and his eyes widened. A guard upon a galloping horse was approaching little by little, and he realized that there was one on either side. They were going to trap them and force them to stop. They weren't going to make it. "Oh Gods," Snotlout whispered to himself in panic. "Adelaide, the bow," he said into her ear, and she struggled to remove the bow from her shoulder.

It was awkward for her to raise the weapon to aim being jostled about and with him against her back. Snotlout watched as she let an arrow fly, and it disappeared into the darkness far from its mark. "Try again," he shouted over the sound of hooves as the men drew closer so they were no longer vague dark shapes, and he could see the looks of malice upon their faces.

Again, an arrow thrummed into the air, but it missed. Snotlout was aware of Adelaide muttering something, " _I can't do it,"_  and he kicked Juniper, encouraging the horse to pick up her pace, but she was already snorting and blowing foam from exertion.

"Hurry!"

She tried again unsuccessfully, and the guard on their right was now suddenly veering his stallion closer and pulling his spear back to strike. " _Adelaide!"_

He ripped the bow from her hands, leaving her to scramble at the reins and he pulled the string back hard, his hand unusually steady. Snotlout just had time to see realization flash across the guard's face before an arrow sunk into his throat. He fell from the horse and the Viking twisted his body to take aim at the second man. This one had brought his horse in close as well and was just a few meters away, reaching out to Adelaide as if to pull her from the saddle. His aim was true again, and the horse ran away without its rider.

It was then they reached the line of the forest. The woods were dark under the canopy of trees, and the air was thick with fog that muffled the sounds of their movements. Juniper was snorting hard to suck in air, and they slowed to a canter to navigate through the trees. Snotlout slung the bow over his shoulder and took the reins again, eyes darting through the forest behind them. There were faint sounds of hooves and men's voices in the dense fog, and he veered Juniper so they moved into the thicker parts of the wood where it the trees grew too close for moonlight to shine through. That night Snotlout and Adelaide were still as statues, listening to the faint sounds of men hunting them until the sun rose.

They did not dare make a fire in the morning.

Snotlout had circles under his eyes having not seen a bit of sleep that night, and Adelaide woke up to him sitting upon the forest floor, vacantly staring at the ground. She sat up from where she had dozed off with her back against a wide tree trunk, her entire body stiff. "Did you not sleep at all?"

It was as if he did not even hear her. Adelaide swallowed and rubbed at her sore neck, looking over to see Juniper nibbling at the buds of a tree branch. Where their rolled tents and bags normally sat upon her saddle, there were broken straps. All they had left were their weapons and the bag of healing supplies that she wore at her side. Everything was gone. Still, her travelling partner had not made any signs of movement. He was always a man of few words, but this kind of silence was unsettling. "Do you think they're still out there?"

Nothing.

"Ralof?"

"That's not my name."

And he shifted so that she could not see his face, and he was wringing his wrists as if in turmoil. "My name isn't Ralof, and I should have told you that a long time ago."

He dared not look her in the eye, sure that she would be livid once she knew the truth. "Then what is it?"

His throat tightened. He had not uttered his real name in years upon years. It rolled off his tongue like a word of a foreign language, something he thought he would never say again until she appeared in his life with the map to Berk. "Snotlout."

In the past, when he would introduce himself, he would normally be met with a scoff of disbelief or a guffaw at his birth name. But all he detected in her voice was confusion. "Snot...lout. Your name is  _Snotlout_?"

He did not need to roll his eyes or defend the name that his mother gave him as he had so many other times in his youth, and swallowed hard. "It's a custom. For some Vikings, the more ugly your name is the more effective it is. So, mine is pretty effective I guess."

They did not speak again for several moments. Adelaide seemed to be thinking on this information and Snotlout sat with his gaze fixed to the ground, just wringing his wrists. It was actually a beautiful morning that betrayed the events of last night - the weather was mild and whereas the night before the woods looked sinister and crawling with guardsmen, birds were chirping and they could hear a stream babbling somewhere beyond them.

"And when were you taken from your people, Snotlout?"

There wasn't any humor in her voice, and she believed what he had said. To hear himself being addressed by his true name, the Viking shuddered. He had been certain for so long that he would never answer to it again.

"It's going on ten years."

What she said next snapped his attention away from the forest floor, and he looked at her with wide eyes. "That's when you became a slave?"

"H-How...?"

Adelaide bent to pick a sprig of leaves from the ground and put in her satchel as if she was not having one of the most pivotal conversations of Snotlout's life, but simply talking about the weather. "We've been on the road for months now. You'll learn about a person in that time… and you talk in your sleep."

Snotlout gaped in horror. What could he possibly have revealed? "But I- I put you in danger. You could have gotten  _killed_ last night. You should be angry, or yelling, or-"

And he looked to a tear in her satchel, where just hours ago an arrow protruded. Had her bag not been in the way, she would have been hit directly in the side. "I think I would have been killed a long time ago if you weren't with me. And I certainly was no help either."

She referred to her failed attempts to use the bow and arrow on the riders. Snotlout flushed, remembering his behavior - frantically shouting at Adelaide as she missed her targets, finally tearing the weapon from her hands. She had seen him in a panic, a state that he never found himself in anymore, and he found himself embarrassed. "I should have told you from the very start…"

Just as he did the night before with her help in the City, the Viking could not help but feel grateful at her next choice of words. "We've made it this far. Taking everything into account, I don't see myself changing my mind about travelling with you. And I hope that you can say the same considering how I failed last night as well. So, unless you have any reservations, I suggest we get moving. We lost all of our goods and don't have time to sit in on the ground and dwell on things that can't be changed…. Snotlout."

Her voice was flat and may have even sounded cold, but Snotlout could see the softness in her eyes that anyone else would have failed to notice:  _I forgive you_.

Without any supplies, the rest of the journey was difficult.

Their flight from the city drew them quite aways from their original path, and they were careful to give the city walls a wide berth in their passing. Adelaide wanted to look for the fallen bags in the tall grasses, certain that she was small enough to not be seen, but Snotlout was far too cautious and convinced her otherwise. Losing all of their gold hurt immensely, and though their short stay at the inn gave them a full meal, it did not take long for them to go hungry again.

As they travelled further east and the terrain became very flat, they were met with sparse pine trees and pockets of marshes. Juniper was wary of these swamps and it took much coaxing for her to pass through them, and Snotlout and Adelaide's boots were constantly wet from the saturated ground. At night, they had no tents or furs to sleep in and they woke up soaked.

On the fifth day of travelling in the marshes they stumbled across a solitary cabin. There, an old woman sat outside smoking a pipe and offered the younger travellers a meal if they could fell a tree for firewood. Snotlout cut the tree down and split wood as the two women talked amongst themselves, Adelaide making some sort of watery medicine for the woman's eyesight. They slept on the floor of her small cabin and were off at the first sign of light, the old woman hugging Adelaide as if she was her own granddaughter.

They were getting closer to the ocean. The biggest rivers Snotlout had ever laid eyes on opened up in the marshes, some wider than a mile, and coastal birds chattered and called as they flapped overhead. One afternoon as they made their way across a long stretch of marshland, a wall of pine trees opened up to their side and Snotlout paused. They were both on foot, Juniper trailing behind, and he raised an arm to stop Adelaide. "Look."

They stopped to survey the scene before them. Within sight were three massive warships anchored in the river, and smaller boats seemed to be moving to and from the land. What looked like hundreds of tents were erected on the sandy beaches in the distance, some with waving banners, and smoke rose from the behemoth campsite. Even from their distance they could hear the metallic rings of forges being worked and the cries of working beasts.

"Remember the man at the tavern," Adelaide said, "He said the Holds were on the cusp of war. This is it."

They said nothing more and changed their route to keep a safe distance. They were close to the port that would take them to Berk. When he would look back on these days of travel in the future, Snotlout would note that everything seemed so surreal and almost as a dream as they drew closer and closer to their destination.

 

* * *

 

Finally, the day came.

Evening was settling in and the sky was orange with dark billowing clouds.

They left the marshes and the large rivers, their path cutting back into solid land. The pines grew tall and narrow about them. Adelaide was atop Juniper and Snotlout walked at their side when buildings came into view. "This is it," Adelaide said and she spoke as if to herself.

The village about them was small, only two dozen or so houses all built upon stilts. The air smelled of brackish water and fish, and not many villagers were out. He could see just beyond the row of buildings an inlet with several docks, all occupied by small fishing boats. It was not at all what he imagined… there was no ocean to meet him. There was not a fleet of Berk's ships ready to take him in or dragon riders waiting… just a small and quiet fishing town on the edge of an inlet. He was tempted to pull out the map and check, but he spent two months looking upon it and knew they should not be wrong. They  _couldn't_ be wrong…

"What now?" Adelaide asked skeptically as she took in the small town.

They went to the docks and looked upon the boats. Not a soul was there, and Snotlout wrinkled his nose at the guts of fish that had been left on some of the decks. They turned back to the town where a man was walking past. "Hey," Snotlout called and he was given a scowling look in response, "Is there an inn?"

"Saltwater Tavern," the man gruffly answered and went on his way.

Adelaide and Snotlout exchanged a glance, and he knew that she was having the same doubts as him. They walked the narrow strip until they came across the tavern. "They should know what's going on," Snotlout explained and went inside while Adelaide stood with the horse.

The tavern was more so a small shack with a barrel of beer in it than an inn, and several sour-faced fisherman looked at him hard as he entered. The barkeep frowned as he approached the counter, and Snotlout was very aware that the inside of this building carried a stench just as bad as the docks.

"What's your business young man?"

"I'm looking for something. Passage to Berk?"

At his words the men behind him snorted, and the barkeep grew a nasty smile on his face. "Oh, looking for Berk are you?"

Snotlout did not reply, and he felt saliva splatter on his face as the barkeep burst out laughing. "Yeah, we've got passage to Berk! Haha! We've also got a cow that gives beer instead of milk and a pretty maiden for every sorry man who wanders his way into town!"

His jaw set, Snotlout turned to go, hearing behind him the laughter of the patrons, "You're not the first to fall for the rumor, lad. Berk does not exist and there are no dragons here!"

Outside, Adelaide raised her eyebrows in question, and Snotlout did not meet her gaze. "Nothing."

"But how?" she asked, her voice went a strange pitch higher than he had heard before. "We did everything right. We followed the map, this should be it. The woman who gave it to me… she wasn't  _lying_..."

But even she sounded skeptical as she looked about the small town. There was hardly a soul in the street, and he knew they were having the same thought:  _what if it all was for nothing._  The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and there was no place for them to stay. "We've been on the road for a long time, let's make camp and see how it is in the morning."

They did not eat that night, but they barely felt the hunger, wordlessly worrying.

Upon awakening without feeling rested, Snotlout and Adelaide made their way into the town once more. In the morning, the streets were more active, and men worked at the docks as the fishing boats moved in and out of the inlet. The fishermen there gazed at them hard, some cold and aggressive, others laughing - for they saw them as a naive young pair who took rumors too seriously.

The people in the village were unfriendly and inhospitable, and they found themselves going back to their campground in the woods at the end of the day… they had no gold for food or drink. It had been two days since they had a meal, and had nothing but water to drink, but neither of them complained of hunger or fatigue as they sat by the fire. Everything that they had done - how far they travelled and the danger they put themselves through - it may have been for nothing.

On the morning of their third day at the port, the sky was overcast and the air smelled of an approaching thunderstorm. Adelaide had been taking watch, and it took several moments for Snotlout to remember where he was and why he might be there when he woke up from troubling dreams. His stomach ached and upon putting his hand on his belly, he felt his bottom ribs protruding.

Adelaide was sitting not far from him, and she did not attempt to hide the miserable expression befallen her face. Snotlout noticed that vultures circled in the air above them, watching as if they were carrion. Adelaide finally said it. "If Berk is not a real place, what now."

She did not present it as a question. "I've led you so far, and it might be for nothing. Now that we are here, what now."

"Berk exists," Snotlout said, but his voice was flat and expressionless.

"It may exist," she said, "But there's nothing else here... this is all I have to give. I don't know how else we can get closer."

They did not speak for several minutes. Snotlout had no words.

"Where will you go?" she asked. "If it's all over."

They had been on the road for months now, in almost constant company. Their goal of reaching Berk was what kept them together and Snotlout realized what she was saying. They no longer had reason to travel together. Nothing unified them anymore. He had not thought of this possibility before, and he had no idea what to say.

It was then Adelaide sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at her stomach - hunger pains.

Snotlout winced at seeing her in such a state. They put so much effort into this, and lost so much, and it was all useless. It was just…  _unfair_. The Viking saw white as he stood, dizzy but suddenly determined. Whether or not everything was in vain, he was not going to let themselves starve over it any longer. "Let's go."

She was too tired to ask questions, and he helped her on to Juniper. As always, as they made their way into town the villagers chuckled at them knowingly as if they were fools, but this time Snotlout was not here to find rumors of Berk and he walked with purpose. He pulled Junipers reins so they approached the docks, and went to the boat closest to him. Any pride he had as a sellsword diminished and he was reduced to begging.

He drew his dagger, the one given to him by Gunnar and Gertrude so long ago, and he grimaced at himself for giving away such a sentimental item. An old fishermen he approached flinched at the movement . "I'll trade this dagger for fish. I can work for you without pay. What's your price-"

And his eyes fell on something in the harbor.

Lined down the docks, he caught sight of a boat. At it's bow, the figurehead of a dragon sat. It was black and had large, cat-like eyes.  _Toothless._

He must have looked like a fool, holding his dagger out to the poor fishermen who stammered in confusion, while he was frozen and captivated by the figurehead. This boat was not there yesterday, or the day before. Without a word, he sheathed the knife. Adelaide was leaned against Juniper's neck in fatigue, and she said nothing as he led the horse to the ship. He walked slowly, cautiously, as if he feared the boat would dematerialize before him.

There was no one on deck, and Snotlout stepped aboard. Wood creaked under his feet and he slowly went to the door that led below deck. "H-hello?"

And he heard a response. "Yeah, who's there?"

Someone appeared before him, a man about his age. He was tall for his people and slim, with a goatee and blonde hair in a low ponytail, his ocean blue eyes bemused but friendly. He was not dressed as a fishermen or even a sailor, wearing a light billowing tunic and leggings with high boots. "Well, hello there. Can I help you?"

Snotlout went to say something, and then looked up at Adelaide, who now was sitting upright and watching curiously. "Yes. I'm -  _we_  - are looking for passage. To Berk?"

The man looked at him hard for what felt like minutes, and then broke out in a toothy grin. "Why didn't you just say so!"


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

 

 

**Chapter Eleven.**

 

The man hopped on to the deck of the ship, and that was when he saw Adelaide on Juniper. He looked between her and Snotlout, then said with another big smile, "I'm going to guess that you're the healer, miss?"

Snotlout and Adelaide just gaped at this person in disbelief, and he gave the Viking a nudge with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows. "No offense to you, big guy."

Snotlout felt as if he could drop to his knees - whether from relief or exhaustion, it was hard to tell. They were right all along. They had found the way.

"Come on down you two," the man continued and gestured animatedly, "I'm just getting some stuff stored away, it's gonna be a long sail to Berk!"

Adelaide looped Juniper's reins around a wooden pole of the dock and went to stand on the boat. When the man ducked below deck, she and Snotlout exchanged a look before following. He was organizing crates below the hull and hummed as he worked, occasionally stopping to ask questions. "So! How did you hear of Berk?"

So Adelaide gave him the story of how she came upon the map. This person nodded and made interested sounds the entire time, and then when she was finished looked to Snotlout. "And you are her husband, I reckon?"

He stuttered. "Ah, no…"

"He's my travel companion," Adelaide said.

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" the man said and burst into laughter at his own bad joke. "But, I do have to ask. Why in the  _world_  do you want to go to a land that is crawling with several-ton-weighing fire-breathing lizards and the fiercest warriors known to mankind? Does that not, you know, make you just a  _tad bit_ nervous?"

"I know it's what I have to do," Adelaide said evenly, and her strong words betrayed the weakness of her body. "I'm willing to risk it."

Then he looked to Snotlout for an answer. "I'm not afraid."

The person before them smiled and held his hands up in a shrug. "Well, I suppose that settles it. Oh, just one thing before we get on the way."

He moved to a corner of the ship and reached down for something. What he drew from the shadows made Adelaide gasp.

The man walked back towards them carrying a Terrible Terror by the scruff of its neck. The little dragon chirped as if did not fear a thing, using a claw to scratch its head. "Is that…"

"A dragon? Sure is!"

"It's so-"

"-little? Yeah he's just a tiny one. You should see some of the others though! Anyway, you've come so far out of your way to get here, I gotta reimburse you for all that travel and time spent."

Snotlout blinked when he held the yellow Terror out towards them, and the small dragon licked it's eyeball with a darting tongue, completely indifferent. "I don't understand," was all he said as the man waited expectedly for a reaction.

"Don't you have any idea how much a live dragon is worth around here? Take this lil fella into the town and trade it, and I'll let you keep the gold! It'll be thousands, should be more than enough to cover the trip and a piece of land on Berk."

Snotlout could not believe what he was hearing. That could not be right. "Wait, you want us to  _sell_ this dragon?"

The man seemed to think on this and shrugged. "Well, that's what I was thinking. Or you can kill it first, and then make the materials last. You know, sell a tail here, maybe a wing somewhere else… I hear eyeballs are going for a pretty high rate right now."

Adelaide did not say anything, but she put her hands up and started backing away. She wanted no part in it. Anger flared within Snotlout. "You are from  _Berk_ , and want to  _sell_  a dragon? They wouldn't let that happen!"

The man continued smiling as if nothing was horribly wrong. "What? You're willing to forego stacks of coins over  _one little_ dragon's life?"

"YES. Give it here, now."

"Mmm, that's going to be a big NO from me then," the man said haughtily and held the dragon close. Snotlout put his hand on the hilt of his greatsword, ready to take the Terror by force.

Adelaide was suddenly turning on her heel walking out, wanting no part in it, and her voice was shaking. "I can't do that."

Snotlout cast the man one hard look, hatred boiling behind his eyes. He was determined to leave with the Terrible Terror, but at that moment Adelaide was rushing to get out of the boat and muttering to herself, and he went to follow and calm her. It was then the man called out behind him.

"Wait! Wait, I wasn't being serious! You pass! You pass the test, friends!"

This person was clearly insane. Snotlout whirled around, ready to get that poor dragon away from this deranged human being, and he paused at the sight before him. The dragon was now cradled in the nook of the man's arm, belly up and cooing at the tickles it was receiving. "Yeah,  _poor wittle Lambchops_  did so good, didn't he? You know I wouldn't sell your  _wittle_  eyeballs, yeah, you're just the world to daddy…"

He was baby talking it, and the Terror was loving every minute, kicking its little legs and wagging its tail. The man even gave the tiny dragon kisses on the nose, and it climbed up to sit on his shoulders. Snotlout was just staring at this point, mouth agape and the man grinned. "See? Me and Lambchops are best friends! I wasn't really going to let you take him. And Lambchops wouldn't let you either, he's tiny, but those teeth  _hurt._ "

Adelaide witnessed this turn of events as well and the person held out his arm to them, which Lambchops immediately clambered down with curious chirps. "Go on, give him a pet! He won't bite. Well, unless you try to take some fish away from him during a feeding frenzy…"

Snotlout raised his own hand, which the Terror gave a sniff and rubbed it's cheek against just as a house cat would. The small dragon turned to Adelaide expectantly, and she slowly approached. She was hesitant to reach out, but when she did, Lambchops sniffed her fingertips and seemed to approve, because he licked her palm before rushing back to lay on the shoulders of the man. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I just have to weed out the people who are trying to get to Berk for all of the wrong reasons. And you did great! No one has before! But there haven't been many to attempt it, to be fair…"

Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief, and Snotlout saw her stagger. Both he and the person before them started, and he reached out and grabbed her by the arm before she fell, and she turned her face away to hide her embarrassment. "I'm sorry. It's just… we haven't eaten in days…"

"Why didn't you say so! I have more than enough for everyone!"

 

Sitting on the deck of the ship, the man gave them breakfast.

Lambchops did not join them, hiding below deck so no one could see him. Loaves of bread were laid out along with fresh fruit and salted meat, and he even poured mead for them. Snotlout could not each much, his stomach unable to hold much after starving for so long, but even the few bites he was able to take helped immensely.

"The name is Rodric," the man said as he officially introduced himself. "Didn't mean to scare you back there. But you gave me a bit of a fright too… you're not exactly someone I would want to tangle with, big guy!"

"Sorry about that," Snotlout murmured in between experimental bites of bread.

"No worries, it's a good thing!" Rodric laughed and waved his hand dismissively, "Berk really loves their dragons and I just have to make sure you'll fit in. So, what are your names?"

"Adelaide."

"Ralof," Snotlout said as he usually did and felt Adelaide's quick glance at his name choice. It was not so much he was hiding his identity from this person - the word just came out from habit.

"Well, Ralof and Adelaide," Rodric said as he shook their hands enthusiastically. "You're very fortunate! We were going to stop making the trips to the mainland after no luck for so long. This would probably have been one of my last voyages this way for some time."

"How long does it take to get there?" Adelaide asked.

"Depends on the weather, but about a month," Rodric answered. "And we will be leaving around evening. I try not to stay too long around the Mainland, it's not the most friendly place, especially with Lambchops being with me."

"But you're not a Viking," Snotlout said. "You don't live here?"

"Nope, I was born a Mainlander but you won't find me over here much anymore. They took me in over at Berk. And I gotta say, life has been pretty great since. You both will love it!"

 

They prepared to leave. Rodric made a few trades with townspeople and other boats that pulled into the harbor and that was when Snotlout understood - he was using the guise of a traveling merchant to not raise any questions amongst the villagers. Snotlout had an endless amount of questions but found himself keeping quiet, simply listening to Rodric ask Adelaide of their journey and her replies. It was as if he was in a daze, watching everything as an outsider - he was really going home.

Finally, as the sun began to descend in the sky, Rodric told them it was time. Snotlout went to Juniper who had been waiting patiently and attempted to lead her on to the boat. The chestnut mare snorted and resisted, but finally gave in after several difficult minutes, appearing quite discontent as she stood on a water vessel for the first time.

The ship left under a setting sun, Rodric operating as an entire crew - jumping this way and that, cheerfully refusing any help. Snotlout and Adelaide watched as the docks disappeared from sight, and the inlet began to open. The initial brackish-smelling water turned deep and blue, and by the time the moon came up they were hitting waves. He breathed in deep, and the smell of ocean air brought memories of Berk and the cold sea of the Archipelago to him. The sails opened up, and upon catching the strong ocean wind, the boat lurched forward as they picked up speed.

He heard a whistle and turned to see Lambchops the Terrible Terror dart from below deck to perch on Rodric's shoulder. "I'll sail through the night to get us out of these waters," the mariner called out to them over the crash of waves, "And then we'll get on a normal schedule. The slave traders in these parts keep their ships anchored at night, so I just want to get a distance away first."

Snotlout certainly appreciated his logic, and he turned to see that Adelaide was at the bow of the ship. By this time Juniper had surprisingly calmed down as she slowly became accustomed to the rocking boat, and he let go of the reins to join Adelaide. She was looking into the horizon where all one could see was unending ocean reflecting the light of the waxing moon. "Hey, do you want to try and eat something again?"

Though he did not show it, it had made him very nervous when she swooned from hunger earlier, and the two of them weren't able to eat much after - starving had their stomachs all sorts of messed up. She did not look away from the water. "I think I'm fine for right now."

They stood like this for several moments, feeling the spray of waves sprinkle against their faces. "This is actually my first time on a boat," Adelaide said after some time with a sort of laugh of disbelief, and Snotlout wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself. "I can't believe it's actually happening. For a moment there, back at the town, I really thought that…"

And her words trailed off, but Snotlout knew. "Thought it was all for nothing?"

"Right," she answered, and then turned to him. "I don't think I've ever actually told you. If you weren't here with me, I don't think I could have made it on my own. Thanks, Snotlout. It really means a lot to me."

He was not prepared to hear that. Just like him, Adelaide did not tend to express her emotions much, and he was not expecting to see such vulnerability in her eyes… and it was for  _him?_  He could not recall any other time a person spoke to him and looked at him in such a way, and it was oddly unsettling. He just nodded. "It's nothing…"

And with that, the softness in her eyes disappeared, but she laughed as she stepped away. "That's what you always say."

 

The voyage to the Archipelago was a long one.

Just as Rodric had explained, they only travelled through the night during their departure, and once they were out of the most dangerous waters returned to the normal schedule of travelling during daylight hours. Rodric was clearly a seasoned mariner, for he could operate the boat completely on his own despite its size and he was permanently at the wheel, often whimsically singing or whistling to himself. Adelaide was almost always at his side during the day, asking him all sorts of questions about Berk and petting Lambchops - she was fascinated with the little yellow dragon. This humored Snotlout, because he knew that it was just going to make her reaction even better when she saw her first Monstrous Nightmare or Hideous Zippleback. Juniper at this point was not even fazed by being on the water and would just idly chew on her oats, seemingly content in taking a break from travelling.

It was at the end of their first week at sea, when Snotlout was absent-mindedly looking out into the waves one night, he noticed a disturbance. There was a sound on the ocean, like the slap of a fish, and he saw something long and slithery dip below the waves. The Viking straightened, unsure if he saw correctly, and focused his eyes on the swelling water. Something tremendously large was just at their port, and a discoloration beneath the waves dipped beneath the boat, something similar to a serpentine tail following it. He said nothing initially, only looking to see if the others saw. Adelaide was sitting near the bow playing quietly with Lambchops, and Rodric was at the wheel. Snotlout went to where Rodric was happily whistling to himself - it was as if the man was always chipper - and said in a low voice, "We're not alone."

"We're not?" Rodric asked the question as if there was no danger.

Snotlout was well aware at this point that the Mainlander was quite the carefree person, but his lack of concern did not amuse him at the moment. "There's something big out there in the water."

"Ah! You probably saw Driftstooth. Or, maybe Tempest, but she's being pretty naughty if she's not far back watching our tail..."

The casual tone in his voice did not help alleviate his wariness. "Excuse me?"

"Oh yeah," Rodric replied in between another whistle he started, "I wasn't going to come out here by myself! It's dangerous, and Lambchops - bless his soul - is a sweetheart but can't do too much if things get especially hairy. What, is it your first time on a ship as well? There are slave traders in these parts, you gotta protect yourself."

"Well, no…" he began, "but who exactly is Tempest and Driftstooth?"

"Our Scauldron friends! Don't you see how we're moving so fast?" Rodric exclaimed with a grin, "They take turns - old Driftstooth has us on a line right now! And Tempest is behind making sure that we make it to Berk safe and sound."

"You've… you have trained  _Scauldrons_?" Snotlout stammered. The last he recalled, there were a handful of species that simply could not be trained. Scauldrons were amongst them - territorial, moody dragons that did not take too well to human interaction.

Rodric raised his eyebrows at him, still grinning. "Well! Isn't that a surprise? You know your dragons!"

 

It was considerably different to Snotlout, who had been on the road and constantly moving, to suddenly have nothing to do except pass the time while on the ocean. But he had plenty on his mind to keep him occupied, both dreading and excitedly anticipating of what his arrival on Berk would mean. As the ship travelled across the ocean quicker than the wind could carry them, pulled by an unseen water dragon below, the knot in his stomach steadily grew and grew. Despite being on the verge of starvation just a few moons ago, he found himself with no appetite, and Adelaide commented one day on how he still wasn't gaining any weight back with concern.

On a different note from Snotlout, Adelaide seemed to be growing more relaxed as they made their way towards the Cold Sea. It was a bit of a surprise for Snotlout, who had always seen her as so hard and tense. She and Lambchops had become the bestest of friends, and Rodric pouted quite a bit when the little dragon took to spending his days getting belly rubs from the Healer rather than join his human at the ships wheel.

He and Adelaide, for seemingly the first time, had time to talk of things other than their survival or how to go about their journey, and Snotlout did not have any idea of what to say to her. Little remarks about the weather, or comments of arriving at Berk was all that passed between the two at first. And at night, when Rodric would go below to catch some sleep, he and Adelaide often found themselves above deck, their old habits of taking watches during the night disturbing a normal sleep schedule. They usually would spend these moments together in silence - Snotlout's mind occupied with Berk, and Adelaide looking peacefully into the water or the night sky.

It was one night he found Adelaide lying upon the deck with her satchel behind her head to serve as a pillow, looking up at the stars, when Snotlout finally asked what he had been wondering for months. "What are you doing when you do that?"

She did not avert her eyes from the sky but idly gestured to the space beside her. "Care to join me and I can tell you?"

He faltered as if to consider, and then found himself settling in beside her. It was a bit awkward in his suit of armor, and he had to wiggle his shoulders until his frame settled comfortably - Adelaide would no longer tease him about wearing it all of the time after their City encounter with the guardsmen - and he made sure to leave enough room for any accidental touches. He looked up into the deep black night above them as well, splashed with the stars and clouds of the cosmos.

"Do you know any of your constellations?" she asked.

"They'll be different from yours," Snotlout said softly, eyes catching the familiar characters and shapes of the sky, the ones his mother would point out to him when he was just a boy. The sensation of being very small came to him.

"That doesn't matter," Adelaide said.

"So… what are you doing?"

"Reading. Watching how the stars move and when they move, where they are in the sky, and when things below happen… they all tell a story. Stories of the past, and what the future may hold."

Snotlout did not answer for a moment, waiting for her to elaborate, but she did not continue. "You are… telling the future? From the stars?"

"Sometimes," she answered. "If they wish for you to know. I suppose it can be little glimpses of that… but they help me understand the world about me as well. In example, I suppose you were born in the Spring?"

He raised his head to look at her, surprised. "How'd you know?"

"It's all very relative," she said as if completely unfazed by his reaction, "How our world reflects the one up there. It's all connected, one just needs to know how to look."

"But," Snotlout started, "You said that all the talk of Healers being witches was just superstition..."

"Really, Snotlout," Adelaide said with a sound of slight exasperation, "I thought you would know better than that."

The Viking immediately mentally checked himself, realizing that she was right. He thought to Gothi and her chicken bones and little stones with runes carved into them - was it any different from his own Shaman's method of divination? "Sorry. I wasn't thinking, just curious."

"It's not your fault. It isn't exactly something you go sharing. Unless you want to be hanged for witchcraft."

Something about that statement flattered Snotlout… that she trusted him enough to share this information with him without being afraid. It was then the Viking realized that despite all of their time spent together over several months in constant company, he barely knew a thing of this woman and where she came from. "Who taught you?"

"There was an old woman healer close to the village I grew up. I took a liking to her when I was just a girl and her to me," she said, "I was always bothering her growing up - asking questions about why everyone was so afraid of her and all, always sneaking away to talk to her. And she said she saw something special in me, and she would pass the knowledge of the Healer to me - just as someone did for her. She would show me how to read the stars and heal broken bodies when no one was looking or whenever I could slip away."

"So your family didn't know?"

Her tone suddenly darkened, but she did not sound confrontational at her next words. "I don't want to talk about them."

"That's alright," he said, still looking up at the sky. With the things that Adelaide shared, it seemed even more deep and mystifying. "You've never really explained why you want to go to Berk so badly."

She thought on it for a moment. "Because I am tired of being afraid."

"You don't seem that afraid," he said.

And he was met with laughter - the sort that was bitter, as if there was some joke he did not understand. "Well, I suppose that might be a part of why I survived so long on my own."

It was just another cryptic remark which he seemed to not understand. "I want to go to Berk so I don't have to fear every waking moment in my life, always looking out just so I can survive," she said. "I've been looking hard and reading the signs about me, and I think that Berk may finally be the place that I can call home. Where I will be more than some… some  _witch_  that can't be trusted. I've been treated the best on this ship with you, Rodric, and Lambchops than I have in my entire life. I would much rather take my chances with killer dragons than the folk I should call my own people."

"They're not killers," Snotlout said quietly.

She turned her head to look at him. "The dragons?"

"They're not killers," he repeated, "They're just… misunderstood. Well. Many of them. You don't have any reason to be afraid."

She sat up before him, drawing her knees to her chest and looking at him hard. Snotlout realized what he had said and waited with a grimace. "And you," she said. "What of you? Someone who spent the first two months of our time together pretending to be something or someone else. Is there anything else that you'd like to share with me?"

He also sat up and avoided her gaze. Though her words sounded quite calm, it was as if he prepared himself to be yelled it. "What do you want to know."

"You try to hide what you really are," she said, "You're a Viking, you've said that much. You were taken away from your people and became a slave. As horrible as that is, there is more that you are not saying. And don't take me for a fool. I know there is something you are not saying, something important to me. And if you ever choose to share it, now would be your chance."

Snotlout found himself caught off guard. Unless performing the role of a Healer and working, the woman before him had always been so quiet and introspective. It was refreshing somehow, listening to her demand the truth, and he grew a newfound respect for her. "You won't like it," Snotlout said.

"Try me."

"I've been to Berk before."

She did not break her gaze, and once again, he was slightly unsettled by the intensity of her pale green eyes. "I am from Berk. I- I was afraid to tell you."

"Why."

"You saw in the City - people were after me. I'm a wanted man, but on top of that, if anyone knew where I came from... it turns out that I'm  _expensive_."

"We've spent weeks alone since I knew you were a Viking, Snotlout," she said. "You could have said something in that time. If I had known you were from the place that we were looking for this entire time… that changes everything."

"I'm sorry."

He said it defeatedly. The night was dark about them and sound of the lapping waves on the boat was rhythmic and soothing, and it was as if he and Adelaide were the only two people left in Midgard in that moment. "I appreciate that," she said, "but sorry doesn't change it. Just tell me now, tell me everything."

So he did.

He told her that he was born a Berkian, and shared the story of the Red Death and Hiccup's training of Toothless and the dragons. She learned that Hookfang the Monstrous Nightmare was his proud dragon and best friend, and how they flew through the trials of the Outcasts and Viggo Grimborn and Drago Bludvist. Then it all came to a crashing halt the day he was taken, and how he came to the Mainland as a slave. Though he spared the worst details of what happened to him, she learned of the trials of slavery and the monster that was Master Carlisle, and Vilega helping him in the mines, all leading to his escape. And though his stomach fluttered as the words left his mouth, it was as if a fraction of some unseen weight left his shoulders. Adelaide sat still as she listened to his words, her gaze seemingly transfixed on the boards of the deck. She did not seem angry, just thoughtful.

"And then," Snotlout finished softly, "You came into the tavern that one night. And everything changed."

Adelaide did not speak for several moments. He did not dare to meet her eye, and he realized his face was flushed from embarrassment. She stood and motioned for him to do the same. "Let me see it."

"What?"

"The emblem," Adelaide said firmly. "The brand they gave you."

He cautiously stood. He might have protested if it weren't for her dead-serious expression, and she had a hand to her mouth in thought and her eyes were dark and angry - but not towards him.

Snotlout numbly found his hands working. He had spent a decade hiding the very thing beneath, yet he found himself shedding his armor. All that was left was the mail. His hand was wavering just above the scar, as if he could not lift the material. And yet his fumbling fingers worked, though his head was protesting to hide the mark as he had for a decade:  _No one can see it, you'll be caught - you're a piece of property._ He had spent the past ten years managing to look at the very thing as little as possible, for every time he did, he was reminded of the events of that cruel night. And yet here he was, pulling his mail up. He had lied to Adelaide for so long, it was the least that could do.

He exposed the white brand, skin crawling - the misshapen hand and dagger emblazoned into his skin. Adelaide looked hard on the mark, her brows furrowed, and her hand still covered her mouth and chin as if she thought hard. Fortunately, she did not try to touch it as she did with his leg wound weeks ago and she turned her gaze away, seemingly coming to some sort of decision.

"I can take it off."

Something - like a flutter of wings - danced in his stomach. "What?"

"I can take the mark off," Adelade said, "It will be painful. You'll be scarred. But you won't have the brand."

"You - you can do that?"

"Yes," she said, and her voice was low and contemplative. "But we need to wait until landfall, when I have the resources I need."

His hand dropped and the mail fell clinked down to cover his skin once more. Snotlout did not know what to say. So she spoke for him, "Thank God that place is behind us."

 

 

The day arrived.

"Land ahoy!" Rodric shouted, but Snotlout was already at the bow of the ship, his heart leaping into his throat at the sight before him.

Massive rock pillars towered in the water surrounding the Isle of Berk, carved into snarling stone Vikings with massive, burning pyres in the mouths. Waves crashed violently into their base to indicate the treacherous waters leading to the island. They were a sight impressive enough, totems that had intimidated enemies away in long time past… but the dragons. Adelaide joined him at his side, and he heard her whisper in awe, "Are those…"

There could have been more than a hundred of them. Their beating wings filled the sky, and they soared overhead and in the distance, perching on rooftops and lounging on sea stacks. Snotlout felt himself gripping the side of the boat intensely and the Healer beside him had paled - though her stomach rose into her throat from fear of the dragons, his did so in a blend of elation and dread. There was a screech overhead, and he lifted his eyes to see a flock of Nadders approaching. Adelaide yelped and immediately ducked, and Snotlout laughed. "They're not going to hurt you!"

He was glad that she was distracted, for if she were to look at him, she would find that despite the smile on his face at seeing the dragons, there were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He had missed Berk  _so_  much. The Nadders soared towards their ship to investigate with their keen and intelligent eyes, and he was reminded of the flock appearing above the shipyard he toiled in years ago, and he found himself lifting a hand. A giant beaked muzzle grazed his fingertips in passing, the Nadder soaring away on the ocean wind. Juniper shrieked and whinnied at the sight of the dragons, and Snotlout took the opportunity to wipe the tears in his eyes as he calmed and pat the horse, thinking to himself,  _get it together, you've really got to get it together_.

But as they approached, the shapes of buildings became distinguishable, and his chest just became tighter as he saw the old village. The Great Hall still sat at the highest point of the village, and he could see the chained dome of the training grounds on it's ledge overlooking the sea. He recognized the distinct shape of the Haddock house set on the hillside and the familiar plume of smoke coming from the town's forge. There were more buildings and homes added in the last decade from what he could see in the plaza, and tall curious structures for dragons to perch on, but he saw that things were not that different at all from when he left it. His eyes searched for the familiar rooftop of the Jorgenson home where Hookfang would sit and sun himself, and at that thought, he swallowed and tightened his grip on the reins.

There was a sound, something similar to a bird call, and they both turned their heads to Rodric cupping his mouth with his hands and whistling into them. Initially, the reason for this call was unclear, but then the water beside the ship churned as two draconic heads emerged. It was the two Scauldrons that Rodric had mentioned to Snotlout so casually, the larger male named Driftstooth a deep purple and the smaller female, Tempest, sapphire blue. They kept pace with the ship as they drew closer to the island. Adelaide appeared to be on the verge of fainting. "Tempest, Driftstooth!" Rodric called and Lambchops the Terrible Terror chirped a greeting at the two sea dragons as well, "Thanks for the ride! You guys be safe out there!"

And they chuffed what sounded like their own goodbye before slipping beneath the waves.

They approached the docks, the same ones Snotlout and Hiccup would play on as children, long before his bullying began. That was in a different lifetime, and he was a different person now, and he tried hard to tell himself just as he had prepared himself months ago:  _this isn't your home anymore. You're just going to see your parents, and then you'll get out before anyone notices you_.

Their boat drew closer and closer and he could make out the people working, and Snotlout had a sudden realization. As usual, he was wearing his full suit of armor… and that alone was going to draw everyone's attention. While most of Berk adorned themselves in leather or studded hide, they wore only the smallest amount of iron. And here he was, clad head to toe in steel with a massive weapon upon his back. There was no way he would go unnoticed. He looked over to Adelaide, who was still trembling from witnessing the dragons. She, in her long dress and non-plaited hair that flowed behind her back, was going to look like an exotic witch to the Vikings, quite unlike the battle-ready women of Berk… all eyes would be on them when they arrived. Snotlout cursed to himself and heard Rodric shouting to men on the docks who began to tie in their ship. It was too late.

Juniper was sweating beside him, rolling eyes taking in all of the dragons in the sky about them, and the Viking realized that it might have been a poor choice to bring her along. "Sorry, girl," he said as he ran a hand over her mane, "We won't be staying long."

Adelaide was gathering her small amount of things, and Rodric stepped off the boat. "Well, good luck you two, I have to meet my friend now! Looks like Gobber has spied us coming in. He'll get you up to speed on everything around here. Say  _bye-bye_ , Lambchops!"

Snotlout grimaced.  _Gobber._

His eyes flicked to the dock, and even after ten years could immediately pick him out from the crowd with his unique gait. The older man's back was just a little more bent and he could see the man's braided moustache had more gray than blonde hairs, but there was not much else to indicate how the passing decade had treated him.

"Ay, Cheers!" Gobber hollered to the two approaching guests of Berk, raising his left arm. Currently attached to it was a hook. "Welcome to Berk!"

Snotlout and Adelaide began to step off of the boat. Juniper was clearly spooked, she would rear onto her back legs and desperately resist the pull of the reins, drawing attention with all of her whinnying and kicking. The steel-clad sellsword was just as nervous but kept his gaze straight as he calmed the animal.

_Gobber_... Snotlout had known Gobber since birth. He was Stoick the Vast's best friend and advisor, and Snotlout's mentor in the dragon slaying arena. Though he would never admit to it at the time, the older man seemed so big and intimidating in his youth, but now the younger Viking was just as tall - another reminder of how things have changed. Snotlout outwardly hid the fact that it was as if his heart was being hammered on, avoiding eye contact and coaxing Juniper on to the dock. With a defiant snort, she finally made the small jump and paced uneasily. Dragons continually flitted by overhead.

"Good of you to come, lass," Gobber cheerfully said to Adelaide. He was so close now. "The name is Gobber! Pleased to meet you, of course."

Snotlout still cast his eyes away and tended to calming the horse as Adelaide stepped forward and the two spoke. "Thank you. Rodric has been telling me all about Berk, but… the dragons, I never could have imagined... "

"Oh, it's all perspective!" Gobber laughed. He normally would've clapped a shoulder in jest, but Adelaide probably would have broken if he tried with her petite frame - she was quite small compared to the Vikings around her. "Now, I'll give you two a bit of the old tour and then I'll get you squared away with Gothi-"

Snotlout had looked up and the two locked eyes.

Gobber's words trailed off and his jaw dropped. "Spitelout?"

He stepped forward, completely forgetting the Healer. Snotlout stood as still as a Sentinel of Vanaheim as the steward gaped. "Spite… no…  _Snotlout_?"

Snotlout dropped the reins and turned towards his old mentor. "Gobber."

Gobber looked as if he had seen a ghost - his face whitened and his eyes were wide. His mouth searched for words unsuccessfully, and then he formed, "Snotlout?  _Snotlout Jorgenson_?"

Snotlout simply stood in place as Gobber blanched with realization. " _Odin's beard_!"

Gobber suddenly crossed the gap between them with a loud, elated laugh. He immediately bear hugged Snotlout, crushing him, who awkwardly stiffened and his arms hung uselessly at his side. It took all of his willpower not to shove Gobber away. "Snotlout, you're alive!  _Oh my Thor_ , my lad! But I can't call you lad,  _look at you_! Spitting image of your father! You really grew up, boy!"

Snotlout had no words, but he did not even get the chance to speak. Gobber now stood with his hand and hook clutching his shoulders hard. "We looked so long for you! We all thought you were dead! By Thor, I- I- Hiccup needs to know this!"

"Gobber, no," Snotlout tried to say. People on the dock were beginning to look over in interest, and Adelaide stood to the side silently and forgotten, taking over tending to Juniper - he suddenly realized he felt bad for her. This was supposed to be  _her_  moment.

"By the Gods, Snotlout! Where have you been? We thought you were  _dead_!" And then he gestured towards his armor, "And by Thor, you look like… the sword, and - what is  _this_? You need to come see Hiccup, right  _now_!"

Snotlout raised his hands as if to slow Gobber down, and he was surprised by the evenness of his own voice despite the fluttering in his chest. "I'm just here to see my family. Then I will be out of Berk's way."

As he went to move away, a firm hand grasped his wrist and he instinctively jerked from Gobber's touch. "Lad, things have changed. You've been gone for so long, you need to know-"

Snotlout cast a glance towards the man, and held the look. Gobber looked… pained. He became aware of the wrinkles that had gathered at the steward's brow and eye creases with time. "We really thought that you had died, lad. We ignited a pyre. What happened to you?"

_What happened to you?_  Snotlout's thoughts raced.  _What happened was that no one came for me_. He jerked his arm, pulling away from Gobber and a pang of guilt hit him at the shock on the older man's face. He went to open his mouth and the only word he was able to form was a stony and emotionless "No". Then he simply turned away and ran.

 

Snotlout jogged through the plaza of the Berk, determined to not meet the inquisitive eyes that followed him. There was the forge to his left, so there should have been the well to right - but no, it was destroyed long ago when Drago attacked, he had forgotten that - and there were people everywhere… and he knew many of them, he recognized their faces, but they were older and more weathered, and it all made him dizzier and dizzier.

But some things just couldn't be changed, and through the onslaught of intrusive new buildings that pierced his childhood memories, his feet found their way. Almost as if a decade had not passed, Snotlout trotted to the door of the Jorgenson house and clutched the familiar wooden handle. His Mother and Father would be on the other side, and he didn't even steel himself, just ready to swing the door open and call out… but the door was locked. He jostled the handle roughly, rattling the hinges and even heard a few cries of grievance behind him, as if  _he_  was some sort of intruder, but the door would not budge.

He did not falter at this obstacle, immediately moving to the back of the house, his hands running over the planks of wood over the wall. Five, six, seven, and it was the eighth plank where he stopped and bent down. Lifting near the ground, the plank gave away just enough for him to reach under and pull a spare key from the space beneath - its location only known to his family. Snotlout was well aware of the eyes on him as he went to the door and just like he did hundreds upon hundreds of times in his youth, unlocked it and on the first step inside of the house called out, "Mom! Dad!"

It was dark, and it took time for his eyes to adjust.

Where a warm fire usually burned in the hearth, there was only soft ash, and he looked on the center table to see there were two mugs sitting as if a pair had just finished a drink. Though the sun was shining outside, it seemed incredibly filtered and dismal through the unusually grimy windows. He tried again, stepping forward into the chilly house, his voice soft. "Ma?"

It was when he lifted his hand from the table and saw the handprint left behind he noticed the dust. It was everywhere, and he looked at his palm to see it coated from where he had touched the table's dirty surface. Unsettled, he wandered throughout the house and up the stairs slowly, searching. He went to their darkened room and saw an unmade bed, and stood in the doorway of his old room. His throat tightened - it was exactly as it was the day he left it. Snotlout's eyes caught sight of a tankard settled on the floor near his window, and had a flitting memory of his last day spent on Berk and in his own home.

He returned downstairs and found himself standing in the center of the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. Where were his parents? They must have moved huts - it was the only explanation. Snotlout opened the door and squinted against the bright sun, raising his hand above his face to shield it's rays. Where was he supposed to start lookin, then?

Suddenly, something grabbed at his raised arm and he found himself lifted into the sky. He shouted in alarm and looked up to see a meaty talon gripping him. "Gobber! Let me go!"

Grump the dragon, despite having the demeanor of a lazy and well-fed cat, had a vice-like grip on his arm, and Gobber sat atop the Hotburple's back. "Sorry, Snotlout, I can't do that."

Snotlout's stomach lurched as he became airborne, the ground below growing farther and farther away. "Put me down  _now_!"

Gobber steered his dragon towards the Great Hall. "I'm sorry, lad. But you've got to calm down, Hiccup needs to know about this!"

_No._

Grump, his wings beating like the flaps of a big beetle, nudged the large doors of the hall open with his snout until the three of them hovered inside. The dragon, though looking down at him affectionately with a big tongue hanging from it's jaws, responded to Gobbers's instructions a bit too enthusiastically: "Grump, down! Let go, ya big oaf!"

Snotlout found himself tossed to the floor of the Great Hall, Grump flapping just behind him. He could hear Gobber shouting for everyone to clear out, and when he scrambled to his feet, he found the door banging shut with the last of villagers leaving. Gooseflesh travelled over his arms as he took a look about him at the Great Hall: burning torches lined the walls of the open room and cast light on its rows of tables, and the tapestries hanging from the wall depicted scenes of battle and past chiefs. For a small sliver of a moment, it could have been as though he was back in time as a Dragon Rider once more, when it was just any other day on Berk with Hookfang and his friends….

But the moment was fleeting and Snotlout found himself snapping back to reality, where he whirled around towards the exit. Grump's mass conveniently blocked his path, the hefty dragon seeming quite content with sprawling out on the floor just before him - it would only take a command from Gobber to make Snotlout airborne once more. He was trapped. Snotlout found his hand instinctively reaching back to Wolfsbane as he had so many times before when he was in an uncertain situation. His fingers grazed the hilt of the sword before he realized what he was doing and dropped the arm, yet his body was on edge, ready to bolt or fight. "I sent for Hiccup, lad," Gobber said and his tone was unusually cautious. "I don't understand why you don't want to stay, but the Chief needs to know about this. No exceptions."

There was no response.

Gobber looked upon him in concern."I can't let you go anywhere. Why don't you take a seat, Snotlout?"

The steward was apprehensive of the person before him possibly striking out, the way his body was taut, just how a Slitherwing coils before attacking. There was a pause as if Snotlout considered the words, before stalking to one of the long tables, shifting his eyes across his surroundings, his movements stiff and unnatural.

Gobber looked upon the sight before him. Snotlout Jorgenson, or what appeared to be him, sat not far away on the edge of a bench. But what he saw was unnerving: though he shared the same face as the young Viking from ten years ago, this man only seemed to be a physical imitation of that person. The cocky blue eyes he had looked into countless times before were now hollow and cold, fixated upon one spot on the table before him. He sat far too still and rigid, as if waiting for some impending blow, jaw set and hands clenched. And even though the young Snotlout that Gobber knew had always been bulky and deft with a sword, this imposter was a bit bigger with age and looked as if he could (and possibly want to) rip a person's arm off. The hilt of the greatsword on his back was worn from much apparent use. Gobber had a curious thought of whether it would be safe for Hiccup to come.

"What's happened to you?"

It was then the doors of the Great Hall creaked opened. Gobber turned to face the sound and bright sun rays filtered into the hall. Snotlout's shoulders jerked just an imperceptible amount and he steeled himself. Without turning, he lifted his eyes to see a familiar slim figure step inside, followed by his shadow of a Night Fury.

* * *

**A/N.** Hello, friends! For a minute there I thought that I wouldn't have an update for the month of January. But here she is, and definitely one of the more pivotal chapter of the series. Thanks again for people who are sticking with my story so far. So, just to give you guys the heads up, this is one of a few chapters that conclude Part I. So, just to give you an idea of what I have in mind for the fic, that means one out of the three parts is now (almost) complete, running at 106 pages according to my Google docs as of right now. It's gonna be a big one, for sure, by the end of it so I hope you all can stick with me through this! You also may see the format of the story significantly changes as Part II comes around... more character POVs and whatnot. As always, I love some feedback and constructive criticism so throw me a review if you have the time. Cheers! _\- Rummybones_


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